Sister and I went out to dinner the other night. Our waiter was fantastic. Friendly, personable, funny, and jovial. He was there at the right times, apologizing for things he didn’t even really need to, and utterly adorable.
He was also unabashedly and unashamedly gay.
I don’t know if he sensed that he was serving a girl on the spectrum and a straight but incredibly supportive ally or if he’s always like that. But I would have loved to find out. I would have loved to have a conversation with him about it, and get to know him a little better, because I’d have loved to put him in a book. Or at least, you know, a character based on him. I loved his confidence, and his attitude. I loved his playfulness. I wished I would have been brave enough to say “Hey, can I pick your brain a bit and use your personality and confidence and answers as the inspiration for a character?” I must have thought of a dozen different ways to say it, and there were at least three opportunities in which I could have made an opening to conversation.
But my bravery failed me and I remained silent.
I’m too much of an introvert to strike up my own conversations. I’ll respond to someone talking to me, and even then, most of the time it’s only if I have to. And even though this guy was friendly and fun, and we did play around a bit, I still couldn’t make myself jump in with the questions I wanted.
It was an opportunity lost. But it’s my own fault.
I’ll just have to let my imagination run wild instead.