The game finished and players from both lacrosse teams were drinking beer and socializing when I noticed an attractive, short-hair blonde sitting on a blanket with a friend at the fringe of the sideline. She reminded me instantly of a girl named Robin I’d grown up with in the Bay Area, there was a strong resemblance. She had the natural, tanned, no make-up needed California look about her. After-game festivities on Saturday usually carry on for an hour or more while teammates decide what’s in store for the rest of the night and I figured I had a few minutes to gather myself before going over to talk with her.
Because we were out of state for the weekend’s games, I could not be sure it was actually Robin, or what my plans were for the night. But I knew that I’d like to know her, even if she wasn’t the girl I grew up with. I was hot and sweaty from playing so I replaced my jersey with a clean t-shirt and changed out my socks and cleats with Chucks before I got three fresh beers and sauntered by to introduce, fussing with my hair as I went. The Robin I knew seemed out of place in this Oregon college town, since my frame of reference for her was California.