the melon guy

there's a woman at the market who sells figs near the temple of castor. every morning, same spot. and every morning, the same guy walks past her stall, slows down, almost stops, and keeps walking. he's been doing this for weeks. i know bc i buy figs from her and i get there early.

yesterday she looked up right as he slowed down. he panicked and bought a melon from the stall next to hers. he doesn't even like melons. i know this bc he threw it in the tiber on his way to the forum.

i watched the whole thing from across the street, eating figs like it was entertainment. bc it was.

here's the thing about this guy. he's not ugly. he's not broke. he's not socially incompetent. i've seen him at banquets. he's fine. he talks to senators, he makes people laugh, he holds his own. but put him within fifteen feet of the fig woman and he becomes a person who buys melons he doesn't want and throws them in a river.

attraction makes people stupid in a very specific way.

not stupid like they forget how to function. stupid like they forget who they are. this guy has probably negotiated grain contracts worth more than that entire market. but he can't walk up to a woman and say "i like your figs" without his brain shutting down.

i see this constantly. the bathhouse is the worst for it. you'll watch two people circle each other for an hour. they'll both position themselves to be seen. they'll both pretend they're not looking. and then one of them will leave, and the other one will stare at the door for thirty seconds before going back to whatever they were doing. and that's it. that's the whole story.

rome is full of love stories that never started bc someone couldn't walk ten feet.

there's a senator i know, not gonna name him bc he'd have me killed (not a figure of speech, he would literally have me killed). this man runs military campaigns. he's stood in front of the senate and argued policy that affects millions of people. last week at a dinner party he sat across from a woman he's clearly been thinking about for months. i could tell bc he kept adjusting his toga, which is something men do when they're nervous and think nobody notices. everyone notices.

she was into him too. she kept finding reasons to lean across the table. "oh, is that the good wine?" girl, you've been drinking the same wine all night, you know exactly what it is.

they talked for three hours. when it was time to leave, he said "well, it was nice to see you" like she was a distant relative he runs into at festivals. she said "yes, you too." and they left in opposite directions.

i wanted to scream.

the gap between wanting someone and doing something about it is where most love stories die.

and the wild part is it's not even fear of rejection that stops most people. i've thought about this a lot. it's fear of the moment changing. right now, the melon guy has a version of the fig woman in his head. she's perfect. the possibility is perfect. the second he walks up and says something, that perfection is at risk. she might be boring. she might be mean. she might be married. or worst of all, she might be great, and then he has to deal with that.

people protect the fantasy bc the fantasy can't disappoint them.

i get it. i do. i've been there. there was a time before everything, before rome, before all of this, when i was just some kid in bithynia and there was someone i couldn't talk to either. and i'd make up reasons to walk past their house. and i'd tell myself "tomorrow." and then tomorrow i'd say it again.

the difference is eventually something happened for me. not bc i got brave. bc he noticed me first. and if he hadn't, i'd probably still be walking past that house in claudiopolis, buying melons i don't want.

not everyone gets that lucky.

so yeah. i'm rooting for the melon guy. every morning i get my figs and i watch him do his little walk-past. and every morning i think about saying something to him. "just go talk to her, man." but i don't. bc honestly, who am i to give advice. i got where i am bc someone powerful happened to look my way. that's not a strategy, that's a miracle.

but i notice things. that's what i do. and what i notice is that the fig woman started putting her nicest figs at the front of the stall, facing the direction he walks from. she arranges them every morning before he passes. i don't think she knows i've noticed.

so maybe it's not as one-sided as he thinks.

p.s. he bought another melon today. that's four this week. the melon vendor thinks he has a new regular. everyone is confused except me.