Two weeks ago, Jana and I were at On Cue, playing pool and having a few drinks as we did most weekends. I wore my trusted blue jeans and a tight, short-sleeve, black shirt. I had taken an entire thirty seconds to apply my make-up and one minute more to brush my shoulder-length hair into a mess of static. Beautiful. Jana put in more effort—shiny black pants, funky tank, black blazer, and Mary Jane heels. I knew who wasn’t going to be turning many heads that night.

The pool hall was dim and smoky. Full for a Thursday night. The sharp crack of the balls breaking across the table was nearly drowned by the heavy bass of rap slamming out of the speakers. I was cold, shivering but trying not to show it. We walked confidently past the bouncer – he knew us anyway – and ordered drinks while we waited half an hour for a table.

We played two or three games and I was actually in the lead. I set my half-empty White Russian on a nearby counter. Immediately, one of the guys – medium height, long nose, thin, short hair – at a nearby table informed me that I needed his permission to do so. The smile in his eyes and the absurdity of his request were not lost on me.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I exaggerated my apology, lifting my glass. I always love a battle of wits and sarcasm. But he took me seriously.

“Oh no, I’m kidding, kidding. Please, feel free to put your glass wherever you like.”

I sipped my drink and set it down. Mmm. It slid down my throat and tingled warmth in my chest. Perfect. I missed my shot. Jana’s turn. I stood back by the counter and maneuvered the ice cubes in my glass so they wouldn’t charge at my nose again.

“I’m Matt,” he said. I hadn’t even seen him walk over to me.

“Haley,” I said. We exchanged handshakes. I make it a point not to give an ultra-girly half-handed shake, but he winced as though I had bone crushing strength.

“Careful with the right hand,” he said accusingly, as if I knew he had fallen from his snowboard several times. “I fall so much that I have to wear a crash helmet. I landed spread eagle at the end of this jump.”

I nodded in sympathy and again missed my next shot. Jana held an embarrassing lead: the eight ball left to my five stripes.

“So are you always this bad at pool or am I just bad luck?” he asked me. Jana looked shocked that he was so blunt and returned the favor: she told him he was definitely bad luck and that he should return to his own game.

“How come you don't talk much?” he asked me a few minutes later.

Jana again overheard and for the rest of the night became my knight in shining armor, immediately to my defense whenever Matt talked to me. “What kind of a question is that?” she asked.

“Well, she doesn't talk much, that's all.”

“Have you ever heard of being shy?” she said.

“Oh, are you shy?” He turned to me.

“I don't consider myself shy, per say, I just don't necessarily talk a lot,” I told the truth.

“So basically, you're saying...you're shy. You see, that's my definition of shy and you can't just go around and change definitions like that.”

He didn't seem to want any explanation so I walked away and triumphantly sunk my next few shots. Matt talked more, usually trading insults with me and Jana; apparently he felt it a worthwhile reason to keep returning to our table. My streak ended and I continued to play very poorly, especially if he was watching.

Matt and his friends finally left after he ruined two games of pool for me. I like a casual conversation between friends, not the stupid pick-up games he was skirting around. Jana vanished to the bathroom, leaving me alone at the table. I was just shooting randomly, half-heartedly, listening more to the music than caring about the geometry of each shot while I waited for her to return. I leaned over the table, arms poised, ready, with the cue balancing on my fingers.

“Haley,” a voice said.

I turned around. It was Matt.

“I was wondering if you were going to be here for a while. My friends and I are going to a bar, but I'll come back if you're going to be around.”

I hadn’t known what to say to that. I wished I had the finesse to brush off his invitation, or to make up fantastic stories.

“You see,” he continued, “I think you're really cute and I want to be sure I see you again.”

Now multiply my discomfort by two. He kept talking, but much of what he said floated away in currents of cigarette smoke and suddenly bad music. I was sure I was being had. Right? But I didn’t want to give in to cynicism.

“Yes, Jana and I are planning to stay awhile,” I finally said. I couldn’t lie, could I?

“Great! So you'll be here all night then? Because you're really pretty and I'm definitely coming back if you'll be here.”

Fast forward an hour, another game of pool, a peppermint schnapps shot, and a screwdriver. We quit playing pool and stood in the cluster of people at the bar. Suddenly, Jana's attention shifted. I turned around and there was Matt, barely an inch away from me.

“Hey. Aww, come on, you don't look happy to see me,” he said. “I came all the way here just to see you. You could at least show that you care. I mean, I think you're really attractive and original. Not like those sorority bitches. I'm big into style, you see, and you've got style but you need to work on it.”

At that point, Jana cut into the conversation. Matt was none too pleased. He pulled my arm, bringing me in closer. I yanked it away and stepped back.

“Now why'd you do that?” he asked with a hurt voice. “Are you the kind who likes to fight? I mean, first you act all interested and want me to come see you, and now you don't even care that I'm here. I might as well be talking to a wall.”

“So go talk to a wall if you want.” I moved away from him but he grabbed my arm again.

“See, you're not playing the game right. Now you're acting like those sorority girls. You're not putting any effort into this.”

He started telling me about how he mentored kids, how he wanted to join the peace corps, how he was a finance major at a college forty-five minutes away but didn’t really want to spend his life at an accounting firm. He wanted to help people. How nice. The whole time he was talking to me, I kept saying to myself, ‘Now, he can’t be entirely bad. No one is as much of an asshole as he seems. See? Peace corps. That’s interesting.’ It didn’t occur to me that he might be lying. Who would lie about something so noble?

I found out later that Jana and another friend of hers were conspiring to get rid of Matt for me. They noticed I lacked the cold-shoulder skills. Her friend tried the “I’m her boyfriend so leave my girl the hell alone” trick while I was in the bathroom. Matt didn’t buy it and told me later that he felt “personally insulted” because he’s “an attractive guy, definitely more attractive than him, who’s six-foot-four, overweight, and ugly.” Jana even put out her cigarette in his beer, which he still drank. She finally grabbed my arm and marched me away. I felt bad for being rude.

“Tell me again why you kept talking to Matt?” Jana asked me, bringing me back to our present conversation.

“Kind of the same reason you don’t want to give up your mission for that book. Well, I don’t know, really. I didn’t want him to think I was mean. I was waiting to find something good about him.” To me, the essence of humanity is caring, feeling, sympathy. Nice fuzzy stuff suitable for a Hallmark card but without the sickly sweet aftertaste. When I meet people, I start out not with a zero balance in how I perceive them, but with about ten positive points. They don’t have to earn those points, they simply have a core value because they are alive. Matt was the first person I met who challenged that notion of mine.