In the game room of Building 4, on the floor right above where I sit at work, we have a game room, and inside, next to the ping pong table, is a giant Dance Dance Revolution machine. On the days the Japan team doesn't play ping pong, I go upstairs to play DDR by myself.
Though my ex-husband and I used to play DDR everyday together in our two bedroom flat in Chicago on Polk St., I sometimes think about a different person when I play: this big bear of a man that used to stand behind me in Marching Band at NIU. He always wore this brown corduroy shirt that matched with his gigantic brown beard and brown mess of hair.
Since we stood next to each other, we'd often talk about our lives. I remember him mentioned how mad he was that his dad agonized over his lawn but then never let anyone step on it, never to enjoy the fun one can have on a well tended lawn.
The reason I think of him and Dance Dance Revolution is because one day, this piccolo player he had a crush on joined me for a game of DDR while we were on a band trip. When I told him about it, he was very surprised. We quickly figured out it was because he confused DDR with D&D, and the piccolo player probably doesn't play Dungeons & Dragons.
Well, he wasn't really my type, but being incredibly...what's the word...amorous? desirous? really wanting some make outs?...well, whatever it was, I took a shot and asked him out.
He told me I wasn't my type.
I just remembered his name....Eric Miller.
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