Moments before catching the slightest glimpse of his frame, I know he is there. Something in the room has suddenly changed. The electricity maybe. The color most definitely. The entire scene becomes grainy and then crystallizes into a sharp focus. I scan the room, furtively, trying not to show the panic that is rising. Knowing he is there somewhere, but somehow still invisible to me. I can feel him.
The people I am with see my mood change. It isn't difficult, I have gone silent and pale mid-sentence. Unaware of what had silently transpired, worried looks cross the table. "Are you feeling okay?" No. I excuse myself to the restroom, but head for the door. When in doubt, choose flight. Always flight.
As I round the mahogany bar, swarming with beautifully dressed thirty-somethings and a few old drunks, that too familiar set of his jaw and shoulders stops me cold. His back is to me. But there is no mistaking it is him. I attempt to disappear into the crowd. It is too late. He has felt me too.