"Hurry up" I muttered. I was standing in a dingy bathroom of a Jiffy Lube trying to paste a fake tattoo around my arm. My truck was in the garage getting his five-thousand mile maintenance job while I'm sweating in this tiny bathroom. I knew that the technician would be looking for me soon so I tried to do everything as fast as humanly possible. Believe me, trying to bleach unwanted facial hair and pasting a tattoo around an upper arm is very difficult. A swipe here and there, peel off the backing and I'm done. It's a little crooked but good enough - it's only a gag. To me the tattoo looked great, but totally fake. I didn't know it would take Gabriel almost a work week to figure it out.

Gabriel. A friend who became more than a friend, but wasn't. It's confusing as to how things were between us then. I had met him on the internet two years ago - give or take a day. We had a common liking of grapes which got us to talking in a chat room - the rest is history.

With the passing of days, weeks, months, and years we thought we knew each other inside and out. The only thing wrong with our increasing affection for one another is that we had never seen each other face to face. Of course there were picture exchanges, I gave him at least fifty, he sent me four. And the four he did send me were either several years old or too blurred to know what he looked like for sure. All my wonderings about what he looked like would be answered today, because today I would see him with my own eyes.

I cleaned up the bathroom and discarded any evidence of my occupation, scooted out to pay my bill and drive to the airport. On my drive up there I reflected on the past weeks. My best friend, Angie, tried her hardest to make me nervous about my first encounter. Of course my big sister put in her own contributions to make it a bombardment of teasing questions meant to put doubts in my head and butterflies in my stomach.

"Are you nervous yet?"

"No, I told you I don't get nervous."

"You're nervous, I can tell."

"No, I'm really not nervous."

"You think your Dad will have that six by six hole dug in the backyard by the time you two get home?"

"Dad's not digging any hole."

"No but I did see him cleaning his guns last night."

"Would you stop it?!"

None of their ploys shook my calm, or so I thought. I calmly drove, parked, and paraded into the airport. While persuing the appropriate gate of arrival and a good seat to watch the plane come in, I appraised my surroundings. The B terminal of the SeaTac Airport was much quieter and much nicer than the S terminal to which I am accustomed. It was very bright and airy, painted in bright light colors, cloud shapes and artwork designed the ceiling and walls while the brass salmon swam around my feet. I wish my flights went in and out of this terminal.

Sitting two seats down from me was a woman in about her mid-forties, of an eastern race and wearing stylish but cool clothes. She was fiddling with the camera that she held in her hands while she stared out the window at the workmen doing their duties below. I tried not to look directly at her, so not to be accused of staring, but I have a very annoying habit of studying people, making characters out of them. While discretely observing my latest subject I noticed that she had a tattoo on her upper left arm, kind of like the one I had, only hers was real. After taking in the requested data I turned my attention to the people below on the tarmac.

"Does yours go all the way around?"

"Huh?"

"Does your tattoo go all the way around?" the lady asked me, "Mine does. Most people only get a cuff because it's too painful to go over the inner arm. I braved it out though. I designed it myself."

I smiled and nodded, then sheepishly explained that my tattoo was actually a fraud and that I had put it on because the person I was meeting is strongly against tattoos, even more so now because of my rebellious act of getting a real one on my ankle. She smiled and nodded, even laughed a little. We exchanged information about our business at the airport, finding out that neither one of us knew who we were picking up. After our short converse we both fell silent, doing our social duty to be civil to others and waited for the arrival of the jetplane.

There it was. An American Airlines Aircraft whizzed past us as it landed on the runway. I'm positive that's the one. He's here! I'm going to puke! Where are those barf bags when you need them? I feel like my entire insides are going to project all over the large plate windows. I'm shaking. I'm nervous. I've never been so nervous in my entire life. A billion of "what ifs" flashed through my brain.

What if he's ugly?

What if he's stupid? or stuck up?

What if we don't get along?

What if he doesn't like me?

What if he's a total stud and he finds fault with me?

What if I'm reading our friendship more than it should be?

What if...

I feel like a mail order bride, only it's the groom who's coming in the mail and I don't know what I'm getting into. What would we do for two weeks if we don't get along?

By the time my nervousness was overblown by my active imagination, the plane had landed, docked, and was preparing to unload it's passengers. I moved with the rest of the crowd to meet everyone at the gate.

Here they come. I'm going to puke! One, two, ten, thirty people, none who looked like the pictures of Gabriel. Each person unloading was torture to me. Person after person they filed out to meet their friends and family, still no Gabriel.

What if he didn't come?

What if he missed the plane?

A man, tall, broad and looking nervous himself, walked out of the gate. He looked around and saw me. Our eyes locked. We smiled shyly. My nervousness disappeared as quickly as it had come and all my doubts and "what ifs" flew from my head as I watched this mystery man walk towards me. Gabriel was tall, the top of my head reaching his broad shoulders. His form reminded me of a big teddy bear. He was wearing a striped button up shirt, jeans, boots, and was carrying a red duffel bag. As he walked towards me I wondered what I should do or say when he got to me - but I didn't have to wonder. I gave him a hug and hello. I noticed that he had been sweating with nervousness, probably wondering and worrying about the same things I had. Beaming with smiles we made our way to the baggage claim hand in hand. The rest is history.