Before We Were Strangers Read Online Free

the hallway, Scott shouted, “I’ll leave that one on for you, Matt! Get to it.” He knew exactly what I was doing. Maybe Grace would find the post, maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, I had to write it—if for nothing else, my own peace of mind.
    To the Green-Eyed Lovebird:
    We met fifteen years ago, almost to the day, when I moved my stuff into the NYU dorm room next to yours at Senior House.
    You called us fast friends. I like to think it was more.
    We lived on nothing but the excitement of finding ourselves through music ( you were obsessed with Jeff Buckley ), photography ( I couldn’t stop taking pictures of you ), hanging out in Washington Square Park, and all the weird things we did to make money. I learned more about myself that year than any other.
    Yet, somehow, it all fell apart. We lost touch the summer after graduation, when I went to South America to work for National Geographic. When I came back, you were gone. A part of me still wonders if I pushed you too hard after the wedding . . .
    I didn’t see you again until a month ago. It was a Wednesday. You were rocking back on your heels, balancing on that thick yellow line that runs along the subway platform, waiting for the F train. I didn’t know it was you until it was too late, and then you were gone. Again. You said my name; I saw it on your lips. I tried to will the train to stop, just so I could say hello.
    After seeing you, all of the youthful feelings and memories came flooding back to me, and now I’ve spent the better part of a month wondering what your life is like. I might be totally out of my mind, but would you like to get a drink with me and catch up on the last decade and a half?
    M
    (212)-555-3004

SECOND MOVEMENT:
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

4.  When I Met You
    MATT
    It was a Saturday when we met at Senior House. She was reading a magazine in the lounge while I struggled down the hall with my nineteen-year-old wooden desk. It was the one piece of home my mother had shipped from California, other than a single box, my camera equipment, and a duffel bag of clothes.
    When she glanced in my direction, I froze awkwardly, hoping she’d look past me as I balanced the desk with little finesse.
    No such luck.
    Instead, she stared right into my eyes, cocked her head to the side, and squinted. She looked as if she were trying to recall my name. We had never met, I was sure of that. No one could forget a face like hers.
    I remained still, transfixed, as I took her in. She had big, incandescent green eyes, alit with energy that demanded attention. Her mouth was moving and I was staring right at her, but I couldn’thear a word she was saying; all I could think about was how uniquely beautiful she was. The eyebrows that framed her big, almond-shaped eyes were darker than her almost white-blonde hair, and her skin looked like it would taste sweet on the tongue.
    Oh my god, I’m thinking about what this girl’s skin tastes like?
    “Bueller?”
    “Huh?” I blinked.
    “I asked if I could give you a hand?” She smiled, piteously, and then pointed to the desk I had balanced on my knee.
    “Sure, yeah. Thanks.”
    Without hesitation, she tossed aside her magazine, grabbed one end of the desk, and began walking backward as I struggled to keep up.
    “I’m Grace, by the way.”
    “Nice to meet you,” I said, out of breath. The name suited her.
    “Do you have a name?”
    “One more,” I said, gesturing with a nod.
    “Your name is One More? That’s kind of unfortunate, but it does make me wonder how your parents came up with it.” She grinned.
    I let out a nervous laugh. She was stunningly beautiful but she was also kind of goofy. “I meant, we’re one room away.”
    “I know, silly. I’m still waiting on that name.”
    “Matt.”
    “So Matty One More,” she said after she stopped in front of my room. “What’s your major?”
    “Photography.”
    “Ah, so I must recognize you from Tisch?”
    “Nope. This is my first year.”
    She