During our second year of college, Megan and I, both being pre-health students and musicians, spent quite a bit of time together, though not really together. We knew each other, but didn't see each other outside of class. We had mutual friends and mutual classes but no real interaction. So, one Thursday night after Orchestra, as I was brewing coffee for a long night of organic chemistry in my dorm room, there was a knock on my door. Nobody knocked on my door. "Who could it be?" I thought.

It was Megan, as peppy as could be, asking me "So, I want to be friends. Do you want to go to coffee?" She had just finished her cup of coffee. I had not yet had mine and my mind was working on fumes. Despite this, red flags were going up in my head. "Who asks to go to coffee like this? Why? How is she so awake? What's is going on?" I plainly replied, "I like coffee."

Then, as if on cue, one of our mutual friends, also in Orchestra, freshly back to his room, and similarly as peppy (despite the fact that he, too, had a long night of organic chemistry ahead of him, like myself and Megan), popped out from around a corner. He seemed excited about something, thus adding more red flags to the bewildering display in my head: "Why is he here just at this moment? How is he so excited?"

Our coffee "indy" was delayed because Megan, in her excitement, had tried to plan it for two weeks that contained 3 tests for both of us and ended with Orchestra Tour and subsequently Spring Break. But over those intervening 2 weeks, I was noticing what I thought were telltale signs that she was totally into me, and that I was into her. Read her story to find out what actually happened.

One such sign happened at dinner. I was eating with a few friends (Megan not included) and walked over to the dessert buffet, passing the table where Megan was sitting on the way back to my seat. I stopped to talk to her and her friends (our mutual friends) and was serendipitously wearing a fuzzy knit sweater with eagles on it that I had bought in Bolivia the summer previous. Megan was sitting at the end seat of the long table and as I stood there, she threw out her hand and petted "the sweater" down the middle of my chest, despite the fact that my arm was closer. Dumbstruck, I finished conversation and walked away and swore that I heard, in Megan's voice, "What a man!"

She denies that to this day, blaming it instead on our friend Blake Ebert.

I decided that I would see what happened, if anything, on Orchestra Tour and go from there. By the end of the 4-day tour, we were snuggling and sharing life stories on a bus on our way back to Santa Barbara. The rest is is history: full of long late night talks and heaps of coffee.

Registry