Not a Meet Cute

They met one fall semester.

She was distributing flyers for a fundraiser when she spotted a classmate and crossed the road to invite him to a fundraising event. Ted introduced his friend.

“Ruby. This is Viv. He’s new on campus, from England. Viv, Ruby is president of the campus student group I just mentioned to you.”

“Nice to meet you, Viv. Hope to see you both on Saturday. Everyone will be there. Should be fun.

“I don’t know about Ted, but I won’t be able to make it.”

“Sorry to hear that. Here’s a flyer anyway, just in case you change your mind. Bye for now.”

Ruby then hurried over to students just coming out of Robarts Library.

Viv did change his mind. He arrived early, and alone. He walked straight over to the bar where she was serving drinks.

“Hi. Welcome. Where’s Ted.”

“I’m not Ted’s keeper.”

The abrupt tone surprised her, and she ignored him.

Yet he lingered.

“You know,” he said, inflecting his English accent with a hint of Caribbean cadence, “my mother named me after the famous West Indian cricketer.”

“Oh?” Her querulous expression revealed that he had missed the mark entirely, which prompted him to add, “You know, Vivian. Vivian Richards, the famous West Indian cricketer.”

“Ah,” she replied, “Sorry. I don’t know. I’m Caribbean, but from Central America. We don’t follow cricket.”

Here’s another clown assuming we’re all “from the islands.”

 That should have been the end of it.  It wasn’t. Unfortunately.