Seven years ago, I volunteered at the first Pride Prism Ball. It was held at The Docks, when it was still called The Docks and not Sound Academy. The big-name performer was Chaka Khan. It was the first (and last) time I volunteered for anything; I also volunteered at a merch stand during Pride…though I forget if it was for Saturday or Sunday. Prism Ball was on Saturday night of Pride weekend.

I’d been working at HMV for a year, maybe two, and my makeover courtesy of D and E was well under way. I didn’t have any gay friends yet. It’d been a year or two since I came back from studying audio engineering down in London, a major event in my life. I think I was still quite optimistic and open to new challenges in life; it was during or just after the period when I auditioned for and got cast in community plays, auditioned for bands, and auditioned for Canadian Idol (its first season). Only the theatre stuff went anywhere; the bands were a big waste of time, and I was crushed when I got cut from Can. Idol. I’d started hardening up a bit, became a bit more jaded, and the whole volunteering and meeting S at the old Barn/Stables made more even more cynical about life. Hehe…part of growing up, I guess.

So, the guy who got away…if I could somehow meet him again, I wouldn’t let him get away again. I really wouldn’t. I know if I really were to see him gain, I would probably freeze up and find it extremely difficult to go up and talk to him. But I think all I would need to do is remind myself of the SEVEN years I’ve waited to see and talk to him again, and I’d somehow compel, hell, FORCE myself to go up to him and say something.

The sad thing is, I’m not sure if seven years later, I’d even recognize him. I don’t think he would recognize me. But I would still say something. I would give it my best shot.

Why this guy, you may ask? I couldn’t tell ya. He was cute, definitely. He was older; I was 22, and he had salt-and-pepper hair then, though he looked very young to have started graying…I think he looked like he was in his late 20s, early 30s, minus the gray hair. He was in good shape, probably great shape underneath his clothes; not a gym bunny, slim, athletic from lots of outdoor activity and exercise. I think he was 5’8” to 5’11”. He drove a Nissan SUV, I think…it was one of the smaller ones that promoted the image of an active, outdoor biking lifestyle. I think it was yellow, or silver maybe. He had a title at the Prism Ball event, I’m pretty sure; he knew the organizers, he had access to equipment and personnel, he brought equipment, etc. He was also one of the people taking down people’s names for a refund after the over-capacity disaster at Prism Ball. I did get to see Chaka Khan for free, but man, was it a disaster that night. People were pissed that they paid money and had to wait in line over two hours because the place was packed, completely missing Chaka’s set in the process.

I kick myself now (I think I have been for years now) because I left the event without asking for his name or number. This is one of my regrets in life.

His name was Andrew, or Michael, I think. Isn’t this ridiculous? I can’t remember his name, I can’t really remember his face. What I really remember, and why I’m still lingering on him after all these years, is that we had a talk from his car back to The Docks, bringing some kind of equipment—pylons? Velvet rope? I was working crowd control….or, perhaps a flag? Some sort of setup, structure, thing that went up into the air? Gosh…memory like a sieve.

We had a talk from his car back to The Docks, equipment in hand. I don’t even remember what we chatted about…it was probably banal, about the event maybe. But it was the fact that it was just the two of us, during that walk, a quiet moment hours before the chaotic overcrowding, that made it special. Amidst all the commotion, all the other volunteers and works and organizers of the event, all the running back and forth, there was a moment of just the two of us, walking, carrying stuff.

The key, though, the reason why I STILL regret not getting his number, was that when we made it back to our destination, he said, “Bye” or “See you around” or “Talk to you later” in a way that genuinely sounded like he wished he could’ve talked with me for longer. Like, he liked me, or was interested, or was attracted.

And I was completely, utterly oblivious to it at that moment. Didn’t know what it meant, what he possibly felt (that he probably wanted to keep talking with me, and get to know me more), until hours later when the angry crowds were out of control. I realized (suddenly, I’m sure) then that someone was actually interested in me, and dammit, he was a nice, cool, and cute guy. Why didn’t I show interest to him? Why didn’t I reciprocate? Why didn’t I ask for his number? Why didn’t I realize it was an opportunity for love until it was too late?

The real kicker is that I saw him the following day, Pride Sunday, talking with friends, and I didn’t go up to him and say hi. What the fuck was wrong with me? He was there, and I saw him, and for whatever reason (I was too shy; I felt weird about the shambles that was Prism Ball the night before), I didn’t go up and talk to him. The guy could’ve been my boyfriend; I’m almost convinced we could’ve had a shot at it. But I fucked it up.

How sad is it that I’m still hung up over a guy I barely know from seven years ago? I’m still hanging on because I regret it; because it was a classic example of being blind to what’s in front of my face. A chance at romance was right there, during that talk from his car to The Docks, and I let it pass by, because I didn’t even realize he was maybe interested in me before it was too late, before the moment had long gone, and he was sitting at a table (in a foul mood, I’m sure) taking down the names of angry ticketholders who paid and couldn’t get into the venue to see Chaka Khan and/or party the night away. When I realized I had a chance at romance, it was too late…except it really wasn’t, because I saw him again the following day, and I could’ve started talking to him, about the previous night, geez. That was also my bad. I royally fucked up my happiness.

I need to use this to make me into a better, stronger person. Let this be a lesson: to not be blind the next time a chance comes around. To just start talking to the guy, dammit, say something, because it’ll be better than saying nothing and letting the chance slip away.

And to have hope. Hope that a chance at romance is coming my way.