FOAMING FRIENDSHIP, PART 5 OF 5

• THE REAL RABID •

So entrenched in the meaning I’d assigned it, the lunch date arrived.

I walked into California Pizza Kitchen to, for the first time, meet in-person someone who's already very good friend.

This encounter was unique for me, for it’s the only instance of my sitting down for a first-time meeting and, after clarifying a few details, picking up where we left off. Have you ever met someone for the first time that you already knew? Of course I didn’t know everything, there were and are and will always be blanks to fill, but I had the basic structure of this woman, and I was eager to glean more. For I’d come to know someone intriguing. And when you meet an interesting person, or at least when I do, you want to hear and know more. It’s why I was there.

When I’ve spoken about this friend to my husband or my sisters I always call her by the name she uses online, rabidrunner, or Rabid (because I feel that by now it’s okay to be on a first-name basis). Thing is, I lied to you earlier; "Rabid" is not actually her name. (You're disappointed, I know.) I’ve known her name, first last and middle, for a while now, but have never felt comfortable using it. Thus far to me, she’s Rabid.

Thing is, it’s a little awkward to call someone “Rabid” in person. The eavesdroppers every restaurant has might think I was name calling or that Swine flu isn’t the only thing they should be needlessly worrying about. She encouraged me to use her first name. I rolled it around in my mouth once or twice, and then I discarded it. For now. It will take a turn or two for me to be comfortable with the change. For the last year she’s been Rabid. Since it's much prettier and less insulting, I’d much rather use her given name, it’s just a little alien right now.

So how did it go? you must be wondering, this encounter on whose behalf you elevated your heart rate?

Good(?). I think so. Maybe. I'm not sure enough of myself to say so definitively. I regret a little over 50% of what I said (the Talker's Remorse being part of my standard, the difference here being that generally I only regret 25-30% of my utterings). I have no doubt that I said too much and revealed a thought or two that she found distasteful (and if she didn’t is actually a really bad person and even more of a kindred soul than I initially thought). I especially regret the part where I scared her into thinking I stalk her.

And I’m quite sure that for the last hour and a half (it was a 3 hour lunch--near the end we were bumping against snack and nap time, two things adult society is too often without) she was looking around the restaurant for a gag or an escape hatch. That being my fear, why in the world would I postulate that the encounter went well? Well, because I enjoyed myself. And don’t regret doing it. And would do it again. And want to hear more. And want to discuss more things. And hear opinions. And throw around ideas. And postulate. Theorize. Agree. Disagree. Converse.

My world, our world, needs more people whose intellect can facilitate thrilling conversations and to whom I feel an deep emotional appreciation. People who I like for more reasons than one or two surface spots. For my part I think this maiden encounter went well because I left the restaurant, garlic breath and all, liking this Rabid just as much, if not more, as I did before I stepped through CPK's revolving door.

And when I invited her to Sparks for a visit, were she self-loathing enough to want a nine hour drive, strangely enough, I—a person who values her home as a sanctuary, a private place—really meant it.