The upside of theft by Megan Markovic

Yesterday, after working later than usual and being more stressed than usual, I decided I would stop at this cute little yoga studio I had found a few weeks ago. It’s not your normal studio, in a mirrored room in the corner of a large smelly gym. This studio is in someone’s beautifully remodeled Victorian home. The owner is a tall, handsome, built man probably in his late 40s. I like to call him “Hotty McHotty.” Very easy on the eyes, which is just what I needed after the day I had.

After a 45 minute drive through an ice storm, I arrived at the studio. There is limited parking due to this being his house, so I had to park across the street, up a giant hill, in the parking lot of a bar. I put a little lip gloss on and practically ran inside. When I opened the door and walked inside I noticed that I was the only one in the waiting area. Which was strange because the class was starting in five minutes and I figured I wouldn’t be the only one privy to this amazing home and yoga class.

In the waiting room was a full-size bar, complete with bartender. A strong silent type as he never actually spoke to me. Maybe he’s just there for show. I should tell Hotty McHotty to just get a statue, cheaper.

Lining the bar was beautiful hand-carved wooden bar stools. I sat down and took my off my coat and shoes in anticipation of yoga-ing. Admiring the beautiful stained glass windows and ornate woodwork around me, I lost track of time and realized I had been gawking at the room so long I was now late to the class. I walked into the yoga room, which looked like a glass box. No mirrors. Just floor to ceiling windows to look at the beautiful snow that was now falling.

I noticed about ten women all sitting on chairs in a circle. This did NOT look like yoga. I asked Hotty McHotty, who was sitting with them, if he had changed the time for the class.

He replied, “No, I have cancelled the class and am now hosting a Shopaholic Support Group. Would you like to join the discussion?”

WHAT in the fresh hell is this?! At this point I saw red. I had a rage black out and yelled at the top of my lungs back at him,

“Ummm I’m sorry, WHAT?!? NO! I don’t want to join your discussion. I want to lay on my mat and watch your pretty face and body show me how to yoga. THAT’S IT!”

I stormed back to the lobby area, sat on the hand-carved stool and put my shoes and coat back on. The bartender just stared at me for a minute and then left the room. He knew what was good for him.

In a mad rage, I decided I liked that hand-carved stool so much that it was coming with me. That’s right, with my purse in one hand and stool in the other, I ran down the long driveway, across the street, and up the ice and snow covered hill to the bar parking lot where my car was parked. I don’t think I’ve ever ran this fast in my life. I ran like, well I ran like I stole something.

The saying, “drive it like you stole it” was about to be reality for me.

In hindsight, I probably should have gotten my car keys out of my bottomless pit of a purse before I picked up the bar stool and bolted to my car. So there I was, standing in the parking lot, with my purse on the ground, pulling things out and throwing them every which way trying to find my keys. Three lip glosses, a wallet, change purse, tampons, a sock, make-up bag, flashlight and a half-eaten granola bar later, GOT EM!

I popped open my trunk and just as I was about to put the elusive bar stool inside, a bright light shone right on me and my trunk.

“Don’t turn around, it’s totally normal to be putting a bar stool in your trunk, outside of a BAR,” I said to myself.

I hear a voice say, “Excuse me, ma’am” and right then and there I knew it. I had been caught.

Hotty McHotty, former yoga teacher turned support group counselor, called the police. All my son’s friends and their parents are going to read about my arrest in the Sunday paper:

“Thirty-five-year-old woman, arrested Tuesday evening and charged with home invasion and theft of a hand-carved wooden bar stool.”

Yoga instructor states, “She’s crazy, but I was very impressed with her running skills.”

Convinced I was caught, I dropped the stool on the ground and slowly turned around with my arms up in the air, my eyes closed. Why did I have my arms up in the air and my eyes closed? Dramatic effect, I suppose.

I thought, If I’m going down for something as ridiculous as this, I’m going to act as ridiculous as possible.

After what seemed like forever standing there, in the freezing cold snow, waiting for the officer to say something or cuff me, the man instead said “Excuse me ma’am, are you ok?”

I opened my eyes and it wasn’t a police officer at all. Standing in front of me were four men, who looked like they just stepped out of the movie A Clock Work Orange. A complete sigh of relief came over me at first. Then sheer terror.

I thought, “Great! Instead of being arrested, I’m going to be murdered by Malcolm McDowell circa 1971.”

Instead of my arrest report my son’s friends and their parents will be reading my obituary.

“Megan J. Markovic, 35, of St. Charles, Illinois, passed away late Tuesday evening. Hotty McHotty, former yoga teacher turned support group councilor states, “It’s really rather sad what happened here tonight. This neighborhood has always been very quiet. She did seem a little odd Tuesday night at my support group. She lashed out, I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m sure drugs were involved in this senseless act.”

McHotty also stated that, “While this is rather tragic, I will be taking legal action towards her family in regards to a hand-carved bar stool that was later found at the scene, in her trunk. I’m sure she stole it to buy the drugs.”

I shook myself out of my headline daydream and replied, “Just trying to get this bar stool I purchased in my trunk, so I can get home.”

To my surprise, the man picked up the stool and placed it gently into my trunk.

I said a quick thank you and walked over to the driver’s side door to get the hell out of dodge - drive it like I stole it!

Something made me stop and look up, but I did, and I’m SO glad I did.

He was the most beautiful-looking man I had EVER seen in my life. How beautiful you ask? Say it’s the future. How far into the future? Could be tomorrow, could be 100 years from now. Either way, it’s the future and men can now conceive a child, and with another man. Crazy, huh?

It was like Matthew McConaughey and Ryan Gosling somehow made a baby together. A magical Matthew/Ryan unicorn baby. No, he didn’t have a horn but seeing him was as magical as seeing a unicorn would be.

A fierce jaw line, perfect hair, tall, buff, manly. He was a man’s man.

All I could think of at that moment was the scene in that one movie, with Ryan Gosling, where he picks up the girl at the bar, takes her home, puts on the song “I’ve had the time of my life” from Dirty Dancing, and does the lift. You know she runs up and he lifts her up above his head and spins her around. We all know that scene.

Crazy, Stupid Love. That’s the movie!

Haven’t seen it? Next time your home from work sick, check it out.

I digress…

I must have been staring at him longer than I thought because when I snapped out of it he was looking at me like I was the one with a unicorn horn.

He asked if I was ok.

I could barely even respond. He was too good looking. Maybe I hit my head on the ice and I was dreaming all of this. This can’t be real. I thought people this good looking were only in movies.

I told him I was okay.

“Just a little tired. Between work, yoga and theft, I’ve had a pretty full day.”

He laughed and told me to have a good evening and safe drive home. I got in my car, watching him from the rearview mirror as he met up with his four friends from A Clock Work Orange.

I let out a huge sigh as I put my car in reverse and started to back out of the parking spot. Just as the car started to move, I heard a big “BANG” on my trunk.

Great! I thought. I just killed the Matthew/Ryan unicorn child! What banger day. I meet the man of my dreams and kill him within minutes.

I’m not even going to say what this news article would sound like. I’m sure you can imagine.

With one eye closed I looked into the rearview mirror and saw him, standing there holding something up in his hand. PHEW! I did not run him over. I got out of the car and he handed me my wallet. I had forgotten to put it back in my purse in the madness of trying to find my keys. I thanked him and turned to get back in the car. Then a thought crossed my mind. A thought that is so unlike me. Something I would never in a million previous years ever do.

I turned back to him and said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

I didn’t have my hopes up because I was expecting him to say no. What would a guy that looks like this want anything to do with a girl that looks like me?!

However, to my surprise, he said, “I’d love that, follow me.”

Instead of going to the bar we were at for a drink, he suggested a different place and that we walk there, insisting that it wasn’t very far. I didn’t care how far it was, I would follow him to the ends of the earth if I had to. He was right though, he led me a block down the street and around the corner to a building that looked like an upscale warehouse. I have lived in this area practically my whole life and I had never noticed this place. Actually, I didn’t even realize this was where we were going until he started walking towards the parking lot. I asked him what this place was and he replied,

“The best kept secret in the whole state.”

Let’s see, how can I describe the outside of the building? For people reading this that are familiar with the Western Suburbs of Chicago, Illinois, I would say - picture the old “Piano Factory” in St. Charles.

This building, made of beautiful new brick that looked like it was just built and had never been touched by rain, let alone multiple Illinois winters. In the front of the building there were four fire pits with log seating all around them and music playing outside. It was the most beautiful “bar” I’d ever been to and we hadn’t even walked outside.

After standing in awe for a few moments taking in the beauty of this building, he took my hand (OMG HE TOUCHED ME!!!!) and we walked to the front of the building. As soon as he opened the door, I could smell the sweet fragrance of cupcakes, popcorn, and freshly baked pretzels, which made my stomach growl in starvation. He led me down a long hall way, each side filled with craft vendors selling their homemade works of art. From pottery and blown glass, to stationary, photography and handmade jewelry, if you were looking for something, anything, you’d find it there. This wasn’t your normal craft fair either. It was fancy. Almost in a way I can’t describe.

The artisan’s work wasn’t laid out on folding tables. Each vendor had a matching cart, which looked like it was hand-carved out of wood. They were decorated to match what the vendor was selling. So, let’s say a vendor was selling his photographs. His cart had photographs carved into the wood of his cart. Each cart had ornate soft lights around it. They were magical looking. Almost like they weren’t real. Like a fairy came in and sprinkled her fairy dust on the cart, said bippity boppity boo boom boom, or something, and lights just appeared. No strings. Just soft glowing balls of magic.

Rounding the corner to the second hallway I could smell the beer. I’m not talking about a frat house with the smell of Bud Light and the floor so sticky your shoes come off when you try to walk on it. I’m talking about the sweet, fermenting, smell of beer. I could smell a bit of grape in the air.

Grape beer? Fancy!

We all know I’m so fancy, so of course I love a fancy craft beer. He led me inside the small brewery and I was amazed at the entire room and mostly impressed with the ceiling, which had hand-carved wooden beams. It was the most beautiful ceiling I’ve ever laid eyes on.

And oh, the windows! Did I mention the windows?! The windows were floor to ceiling. Kind of like Hotty McHotty’s yoga studio turned Shopaholic Support Group.

These were different though. On the outside of the windows were beautiful green vines with yellow and blue flowers that almost looked fake. It was the dead middle of winter in Illinois. There’s no way flowers could be growing in this arctic tundra.

Unless, magic maybe? If you believe in magic.

This night, I was a believer.

He led me to a table in the back corner of the room, against the beautiful window vines. It started snowing again and the sight of the snow falling on the flowers was magical. A waitress brought us each a beer. I took a sip (indeed, it was grape) and it reminded me a bit of my favorite beer from New Orleans, Abita Purple Haze.

How did the waitress know what kind of beer I liked? We never placed an order, she just brought them to us.

Magic again, perhaps.

We sat in silence sipping our beers for a while. When the silence finally broke, it wasn’t your usual first date small talk.

We didn’t talk about our jobs, our families, our pets, or our friends. We talked about the way a song can make you feel ten different emotions at once. How you can hear a song and it can take you back to a time in your life and make you feel emotions you haven’t felt in years. We talked about our favorite books and little things that make us happy.

Me: My son, a cuddle with my dog, a long nap, the sound of the ocean, good music, conversations with close friends, hugs, photographs, thunderstorms.

Him: bare feet in the grass, this place, good music, close friends, a long drive in the summer with the windows down, a good long kiss.

I couldn’t get enough of him. He was confident but not cocky and had a strong personality but a gentle soul. He made me feel like a woman. He made me feel like I was a better person than I probably am.

What felt like five minutes with him, turned out to be hours. We had closed the place down. The bartender gave us the silent hint that he was closing up and put the chairs on top of the tables and shut some of the lights off. We got up from our seats and headed for the door. He took my hand again and this time he kissed it.

(OMG HE KISSED IT!!!)

We walked back down the hallway with the vendors. The carts were all closed but the magical lights were still lite. Like they purposely left them on for us. I kept thinking in my head, “This would be the perfect time to kiss me.”

We got to the front door and walked outside. The fire pits were still roaring and this time, in the trees, the same glowing lights that were on the vendor carts shone like stars. I wondered if they sold those on Amazon.

He stopped in the middle of the walkway and hugged me. In my family we call them “squeeze hugs.” My grandma Ruth was famous for these. It was like she was trying to squeeze all her love into you. She gave the best squeeze hug. My son, a close second. In my opinion, if you’re not hugging this way, you’re not doing it right. Not only was this guy the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen but he had an amazing personality and gave proper squeeze hugs.

JACKPOT!

He held my hand as we walked back to my car. We didn’t speak on the walk back, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t an awkward silence. It was a peaceful, comfortable silence. I felt safe and at ease. Like I was walking with my best friend.

When we arrived back at my car, he looked deep into my eyes, for what seemed like hours. It could have been for all I know. I felt no sense of time when I was with him. It was freezing cold outside and I couldn’t even feel it, instead I felt warm. I gave him one last hug and as I pulled away to get into my car he grabbed my arm, and pulled me back around to face him.

We locked eyes, he pulled me closer and just as he was about to kiss me, I woke up, because I had to pee.

This story was originally published on Megan’s blog, The M Word.