The whole thing started because the door to the Men's room was locked.  Now, I'm not a big rule-breaking, society-overthrowing, anarchic kind of guy, but I really did have to pee.   And the Ladies' didn't look occupied, anyway -- door unlocked, light off -- so I figured who was going to know if I ducked in there, did my business, and went on my happy way?   So I timidly pushed open the door, and just to make completely positively sure it was all right, I said "Excuse me?"  And almost jumped out of my skin when a voice responded "Go away!"
    Okay.  How can I explain what I did next?   Call me neurotic, but I can't stand to be alone in the dark.  I couldn't fathom what someone would be doing in there with no light on, and I just had to find out.  "Excuse me -- are you okay?"   I squinted into the darkness.  The light behind me made an oblong of white on the hideous orange tiling, and I could see the door to the first stall, but that was about it.
     "I'm FINE.  Now go away!"   But I knew that I couldn't.  I mean, I would have thought about it for weeks!
     "You sure?  What are you doing?"
     "The hell do you think I'm doing?  It's a bathroom, isn't it?"  Her voice seemed raw, a little strained, maybe.   Sounded like she had a cold, or something.  Or maybe she had been crying.  I stepped inside and let the door swing shut.  The little rubber strip at the bottom blocked out the light from the restaurant, and the inside was as dark as a nun's wardrobe.
     "So you're sitting here in the dark peeing?  That's weird."  I clapped a hand over my mouth as soon as I said that.  I mean, I'm the last guy you'd expect to be interrogating a woman when she's in the process of doing what no one can do for her.  I don't even want to be in the same building, let alone the same room, as a woman doing her business.  But here I was.
     "No, I'm not peeing, okay?  And not taking a shit, either, since you seem so goddam interested.  What are you, some kind of pervert?"
     "No -- I'm not, I swear!  I'm just interested in why someone would be sitting in the dark in a Ladies' restroom in Wendy's.  Especially if that someone isn't using the bathroom.  So what are you doing?"
     "Jilling off."
     "What?"
     "Masturbating.  Y'know, guys jack off, girls jill off.  But I'm not really.  It was a joke."  She sniffed.  "Actually, I'm sitting on a toilet in a stall in the dark in a Ladies restroom in Wendy's having myself a nice cry.  That what you were expecting to hear?"
     I slid down the door until I had my back against it, legs stretched out.  "What were you crying about?"
     "You're pretty fucking forward, you know that?  Do you always walk into restrooms and start questioning innocent women?"
     I actually started to blush in earnest, then.  "Okay, hey, I'm sorry.  What you do in the dark on a toilet in a stall in a restroom in Wendy's is your own business."   This was getting way too weird.   I mean, I'm not at all the sort of person that -- I know, I already said that.  Anyway, I decided that I had enough of my daily dose of surreality, and I stood up and swung the door open.
     "Hey!  Where are you going?"
     "To see if I can get the key to the Men's room?"
     "Don't you want to hear the whole gory story?  Why I'm sitting in the dark, et cetera?"
     "I don't want to intrude.  I mean, I was being pretty -- you know, f-ing forward."
     "Fucking.  Fu-cking.  It's just a word.  You can say it."
     "Whatever."  I stepped out of the door, but left it open.
     "Fine, I'll just sit here and cry all by myself.  Go ahead -- don't feel guilty or anything."
     "Heck."  I said, and closed the door again, finding the deadbolt and turning it as soon as the door was closed.   "So what's the ‘whole gory story?"
     "Where should I start?"
     "Ummm. . . what's your name, for starters, and you could at least tell me what stall you're in . . ."
     "Eeeeeeh,"  She said, doing a passable imitation of a game show buzzer.  "Wrong questions.   I'm definitely not telling you my name, and what the hell does it matter what stall I'm in?"
     "Well --" I swear to you, if the lights had been on in that room, if I had known what she looked like -- heck, if I could have seen her feet under one of the stalls I wouldn't have ever found the courage to say what I said next, "I have to. . ."
     "Take a piss."
     "Pee, right.  And I didn't want to accidentally sit down on top of you."
     "You pee sitting down?"
     "When I'm in a dark room, I do.  How do you expect me to, uh, aim?"  She laughed at that, and I was surprised at how her laugh sounded.  Her speaking voice was hard and no-nonsense, sort of Lois-Lane-ish (Margot Kidder, of course, not friggin' Teri Hatcher).  But when she laughed she was pure Goldie Hawn.
     "You're funny, you know that?   You can't say the simplest thing without getting all embarrassed.  All right, I'm in the last stall on the left.  Why don't you cop a squat in the one next to me, huh?"
     And amazingly enough, I did.   Over the sound of running water, I said "So what should I call you, if you won't tell me your name?"
     "Just ‘you' will work for now.   But back to my story.  What do you think it was?  What would make a tough girl like me want to cry?"
     "Was it a guy?  What, did he break up with you?  Or beat you up?"
     "Actually, no.  The guy's okay.   His girlfriend's a real bitch, though."
     "You went out with a guy who had a girlfriend?"
     "Something like that.  Do you want to hear this or not?"
     "Go ahead."  By then the waterworks had finished, so I stood up and shook, zipped, and buttoned, then sat back down.
     "Okay, let me back up a little."  I heard the toilet seat creak as she shifted position.  "I go to Flagstaff High School --"
     "Hey, so do I!"
     "Shut the fuck up, will you?  I'll never finish."
     "Jawhol, mein fuhrer!"
     "You're a smart-ass, you know that?  I didn't think you had it in you.  Anyway, I go to Flagstaff High.  You know that jock-type Kevin Goligosky?   Shaved head, baseball team, life of every party?"
     "I sure do!  The guy's a complete asshole!"  And, of course, my ears started burning again and my face flushed red.  I never swear!  I always think people sound so stupid when they swear.   But, then, she didn't sound stupid, so why not?
     "Oooo, and you swear, too?  Keep this up, and I'm going to revise my mental image of you as Richie Cunningham.   Anyway, Kevin's really not that bad.  I know, he can be a real dick to people, but that's because he's insecure.  But his girlfriend, on the other hand. . . do you know Kristi Alverez?"
     "No."
     "Lucky man.  She's evil.  She's the spawn of the devil himself.   She's a prissy little stuck-up tight-assed bitch, and she has Kevin so completely pussy-whipped he can barely go take a shit without asking permission."
     As terrible as it might sound, I was actually starting to get used to hearing her talk like that.  The first couple of f-words really caught me off guard; I mean, the girls in my church group sure don't talk like that.  But I was starting to almost like it -- I mean, she was saying exactly what she was thinking.  She wasn't. . . well, bullshitting.  Did I just think that?
     "So I thought he needed a break from her.  I invited him over to my house to watch a movie, and tried to get him to show at least a little romantic interest in me.  And you know what?"
     "He's secretly gay?"
     "Hardy fucking har har.  He was a block of wood!  I could have sworn he was dying for someone to come along and liberate him from The Beast.  But fucking Kristi fucking Alverez has him on such a short leash he wouldn't even look twice at me.  As soon as I turned down the lights and started inching towards him on the couch, he flipped out!  He stood up, said he was hungry, and we drove --"
     "To Wendy's.  Okay.   How did you end up in the dark on a toilet in a stall in the restroom?"
     "I was getting there.  So he bought me one of Dave's famous Spicy Chicken Sandwiches, and we sat down on opposite sides of the table, and there was the longest pause in the history of long pauses, which was interrupted by the sudden arrival of everyone's favorite hellcunt."
     "Huh?"
     "Kristi.  Sometimes you have to make up your own cusswords.  Anyway, Kristi came storming through the doors, and I thought her eyes were going to pop out of their goddamn sockets when she saw us sitting together.  She grabs Kevin's arm, and she's all ‘Kev-IN, what are you doing here with her?'  And I said, ‘I'm sorry, did he forget to ask permission to go out tonight?'  And that's when all hell broke loose."
     She paused for awhile, long enough that I wondered if she had said all she was going to say.  I shifted my weight around on the toilet seat.   Industrial toilets, for some reason, aren't particularly made for sitting on for a long period of time.  I guess they want you to do your business and get out.
     "She let go of Kevin for a second and just stared at me, like I was a -- a used condom in the water fountain, or something.  Then she said ‘you fucking whore.  Fucking white-trash slut.  If I ever see you near him again, I'll claw your eyes out.'  And she dumped my fucking Frostee in my lap and walked out."
     "And you didn't go after her?  I mean, um,  you don't seem to be the passive type."
    "I don't know what happened.  I guess I was just overwhelmed by how fucking unfair it was.  I mean, I didn't do him.  I didn't even try.  I'm technically still a virgin, for Christ's sake."
    "Technically?"
     "Okay, I gave Justin Norton a hummer, and his friend a hand job.   But, dammit, that doesn't make me a slut, does it?  Just because rich little bitches like Kristi get to dress Calvin Klein from head to toe and date the fucking football team and I have to take what I can get doesn't mean that I'm a slut!  She's a doorknob, for Christ's sake!  Everybody gets a turn!"  And much to my amazement, she started to cry.   She told me she had been crying, I know, but I guess I didn't believe it.  She sounded so -- I don't know -- tough.
     "Hey, wow, take it easy."
     "Bu-buh-buh" she sniffed.  "But you don't know how it is.  You're a guy.  Guys can do whatever the hell they want -- if they want to get down, they get down; if they don't, they don't, and nobody gives a rat's ass."
     "Now, c'mon, that's not exactly true.  You have no idea how much shit I've taken for still being a virgin.  Everyone tells me that a senior in high school who hasn't had sex yet is either a faggot or a monk, and they know I'm not a monk."
     "So are you?"
     "What?"
     "Are you gay?"
     "NO!  Jeez!  But everyone loves to tell me I am.  ‘Faggot.  Huh huh. Queerbait.  Better watch my ass, here comes the faggot!'  Do you know what it's like to be a social leper?"
     "Of course I do.  And anyway, why should it matter?  You know you're not gay.  And what if you were?  You'd just be different.  It's only the small-minded pinheaded rednecks in our school who would say otherwise."
     "Then what should it matter if someone calls you a slut?  You know you're not.  And what if you were?  When they say ‘here comes the slut,' just say ‘excuse me, but could you do me a favor and go outside and play a game of hide and go fuck yourself?"
     She laughed for a good half a minute on that one, and I felt my cheeks get hot again.  But then it dawned on me that she wasn't laughing at me, like Kevin Goligosky and all the other jock-pricks did.  She was laughing because what I said was funny.   "Do you realize what you just did?" she asked.
     "What?"
     "You said ‘fuck.'  There's hope for you yet."   I heard her toilet seat creak as she stood up.
     "Where are you going?"
     "Stay put.  You've got your pants up, right?  I think I heard a zipper.  And close your eyes."
 I heard her stall door open, and I stood up.  I closed my eyes, and the grey outlines I was beginning to see turned black.   And then, for the maybe third time in my life, there was a girl pressed up against me.   And she felt like a woman.  She was about my height, and what I felt was soft and warm and absolutely wonderful.   And then asked if she could kiss me.  Asked!  That's like asking someone if you can give them a winning lottery ticket!
     So we kissed.  Then kissed a little more.  And before I knew it, my hand was on the upper slope of her breast.  And then it was right where -- well, if I was a mountain climber, I would have planted a flag.   We finally broke the kiss and just hugged each other, gasping for breath.
     "Holy cow."   I found myself saying.
     "Yeah."  And then another unbelievable kiss.  I was amazed out how good it felt.  The couple of other times I had kissed a girl, I had been so nervous that it wasn't any fun.  But with her, I almost felt like I knew what I was doing!
     "So what do we do now?"  She asked.
     "Why don't we get out of here?  We can go to my house.  I think my parents are still out playing bridge."
     She sighed. "It won't work."
     "Why?" I opened my eyes, but all I could see was her outline.
     "Because as soon as the lights turn on, everything's different.  We don't have any names right now, we don't have faces -- we're just two minds meeting in the dark."
     "And bodies."
     "Yeah, smart-ass.  And bodies.  But as soon as the lights come on, all of the  bullshit you have to carry around and all the bullshit I have to carry around comes crashing down on us.  We won't be two minds and bodies. . . don't you get it?  We'll be people."
     She rested her head on my shoulder.  "I know it sucks shit, but tell me I'm lying."
     "I --" I swallowed hard.  "I can't.  Ah, crap.  But we go to the same school -- that much we know about each other.  Maybe I'll run into you, y'know, recognize your voice.  Or your sillhouette."
     "Huh.  Maybe.  C'mon, hold my hand, you creep, and let's go."  We walked down the row of stalls to the little alcove where the sink was.   Then she let go of my hand.  "Now close your eyes, and don't look until the door swings shut. Count to a hundred or so, then you can leave.  Okay?"
     "Okay."
     "Promise me you won't look!"
     "I promise.  I -- fucking promise."
     "You know what?  You absolutely slay me.  I hope to God we end up in the dark together again.  Even if it's not in the dark on a toilet in a stall in the Ladies room in Wendy's."
     I closed my eyes, felt her lips brush against mine one last time, and then I saw the light on the insides of my eyelids, and when it was dark again I counted to a hundred, very slowly.  And then I opened the door and walked out, blinking in the bright light.  There were a few couples sitting at tables, munching on their hamburgers and salads and french fries -- but that was all.
 
     So that's the whole gory story, as she would put it.   This is when Rod Serling comes out and says "A locked Men's room door leads to a chance encounter in the dark on a toilet in a stall in the Ladies' room in Wendy's in -- The Twilight Zone."  It's almost hard for me to believe that it really happened.   It's been about a week, and I haven't told anyone about it. . . I guess I don't want to jinx it.
     But I have been thinking a lot about who I see and how I see them.  And about how maybe sometimes we ought to just turn the lights out and listen.  And believe me, I've been keeping my ears open.