Member-only story
He Liked When I Said ‘Neuroplasticity’
We met at a dance club when I was a junior in college. I had just dropped ten pounds on a post-breakup apple-only diet. I wore dark denim bellbottoms, a cherry red tank top, and had a new chic just-above-the-shoulder haircut.
I passed through the sea of clubbers next to the bar to meet my friends. He was getting a drink, and our eyes locked for the longest split moment as I offered a sly smile. I can still feel my eyelids slowly gazing up and then down again. As I slid past him, I felt his hand on my left shoulder.
He was tall, dark, and handsome.
He wore a black bomber jacket which matched his slick but casual hair. He cared but not too much — the perfect balance of sturdy and finesse.
We started to chat. I told him I went to Northwestern, and he said he just started his internship there.
How perfect.
As our eyes continued to lock, my smile pierced the quiet between my words.
I told him I majored in cognitive science, and he asked more about it. I gushed about how I loved learning about language and the brain and neuroplasticity.
“Say that again,” he said.
“Neuroplasticity,” I whispered to him, masking Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.”
