The heavy wooden doors pushed aside, we
all step into the spacious waiting room. About two dozen people
already mingle there, either sitting on sofas or standing around.
Since I don't know anyone, I stay with my group, though this is not
much good because I knew few of them very well.
The two-and-a-half hour drive has taken
its toll; I am tired and groggy, though happy to be someplace I've
never been. My gaze wanders around the room, taking in the huge
paintings that hang on all the walls – portraits of all our
governors. Four or five sofas sit near the huge fireplace and in the
middle of the room, all mismatched in pattern but alike in supplying
comfort. A table is set up in one back corner, stacked with coffee
cups, creamers, spoons, napkins, and coffee jugs.
A little office desk lay directly to the right of the door, where
sits a young redheaded lady – the secretary.
All else fades as my eyes land on
something that strikes my fancy like none other. Or, rather, someone.
A tall man dressed in a green shirt, and a pale tie tucked underneath
a dark suit stands behind another desk, this one longer than the
secretary's. I take in his not-quite-typical buzz cut, and the piece
of black and silver metal looped around his ears. Secret service,
minus the shades. But all that is noticed in the seconds that follow.
The
very first moment I see this man, I am jolted by a single thought:
This is Liam Neeson's younger brother.
Of course, he isn't, but I immediately decide that he is.
They both share the exact same
nose, the same jaw structure – the same face.
The only difference is the hair, and the eyes, and the accent. Liam
Neeson's eyes are a striking blue, and when he talks his voice
carries with it the lilting tones of the Irish. This man's eyes are a
warm hazel, and he speaks like a true American.
I cannot stop
staring at him. In attempt to appear unlike some strange stalker
girl, I also look around the room, take a few steps this way, fold my
arms behind my back, walk back that way. But my eyes always flit back
to him. His height makes it easy to pick him out, anyway; he is one
of only two tall men in the room.
A
debate rises up inside me. Should I walk up to him and say
something? What exactly would I say? “Hey, sorry to interrupt your
secret-service work, but do you know you look like Liam Neeson?”
“...do you even know who Liam Neeson?”
How would I say it? How awkward would it be if he didn't
know who Liam Neeson is? My
heart skips a beat, and inwardly I shake my head. No, there is no way
I could do that.
The minutes tick
by, and more people congregate in the room. It seems to be shrinking;
there's almost no place left to stand. I continue my charade of being
interested in the room while actually just trying not to look at the
Liam Neeson look-a-like, and I notice instantly when he leaves the
room. I do not have much time to wish him back in, because a moment
later we are instructed to line up and go in to meet the governor.
Before I know it, I
am shaking the governor's hand, telling him my name, and he is
smiling me and thanking me for coming. Everyone gathers behind the
governor's desk to watch him sign a significant bill, and pose for a
picture. Two of the men who helped him pass this piece of legislature
stand beside him, and some people have to move to different areas in
order to be seen by the cameras behind the tall personnel.
After everything is
done, some choose to stay and talk with the governor or his
assistants, and the others trickle back into the waiting room. I am
one of the latter. I shake the governor's hand once more and head
back to where we entered...
...And
see that Mr. Secret Service is back. Now's your chance,
I tell myself, You know if you don't go up and say
something you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Ready... go!
But I don't. My heart beat accelerates, until it's hammering. Nearly
leaping out of my chest. I resort to threatening myself, If
you don't go
up to him, and you tell Mom you saw someone who looked like Liam
Neeson, the first thing she'll say is, “Did you tell him that?”
And you're going to have to say No.
I look around the room. Only a handful of people stand around,
chatting quietly. Two more men in ties, dark suits, and bluetooth
earpieces stand behind the long desk, and Mr. Secret Service leans on
the desk exchanging words with a coworker.
Before I can gather enough courage to approach, he walks to the small
coffee table – just six feet away from where I stand. Now's the
time! …yet still I can't. My feet seem glued to the floor, and my
tongue won't separate itself from the roof of my mouth. I purse my
lips, battling fiercely with my will. By the time I have convinced
myself that I shall go up and say something to him, he has
poured his coffee and is already returning to chat with his coworker.
Shoot,
I lost my chance.
I stand there another minute, rooted to the spot, chewing the inside
of my cheek. Finally, I decide, I am
going to say something. Ever so slowly, I inch forward. Just put one
foot in front of the other. Then again. Then I am standing just three
feet away, but he's still in the midst of a conversation. I don't
want to interrupt. But if I wait much longer, my group might be ready
to leave...
Before I can worry much about this, his coworker hands him an empty
clipboard and says something, and then he walks to a different area
of the desk, a few feet away. Tentatively, I take one step – and
throw all caution to the wind. It's now or never.
“Forgive me,” I say, a bit loudly, to get his attention. He turns
and sees me, and I say quickly, “Has anyone ever told you that you
look like Liam Neeson?” My courage deflates a bit as he looks up at
the wall, eyes slightly squinting, as if lost in thought.
I
force out another question: “...do you... even know who that is?”
If he says no, I
don't know what I'm going to do...
But the man, towering above me, looks down at me with a smile and
says, “Yeah... The Grey?”
I bite my tongue to keep from listing all the movies in which I've
seen the actor – Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Taken, Taken 2,
Batman, The A Team – and say instead in one breath, “Yeah! Yeah,
that's him. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
He nods, once, and again. “Yeah.” Then he pauses, and a smile
tugs up the corners of his mouth. “But... he has gray hair.” Do I
imagine the friendly twinkle in his eyes?
I
grin. “Alright, a younger
Liam Neeson.” He chuckles, and I add, “I'm sorry, I just wanted
to tell you. As soon as we walked in the room I saw you and I thought
that you look exactly
like him and I wanted to ask.” Mentally, I slapped my head. How
much of an idiot do you want him to think you really are?
But the man is still smiling as he says, “Well, thanks... I guess.”
I, too, continue my own foolish grin. “Oh, definitely – I meant
it as a good thing.” He chuckles and goes back to his clipboard,
and I go back to my seat on one of the sofas, floating the whole way
there. I am glowing, I'm sure, and I can't help but sit up ram-rod
straight, legs crossed perfectly, smile stretched over my face. I
don't care that I may have embarrassed myself. I don't even care that
I notice Mr. Secret Service throwing back his head and laughing with
the coworker about something probably relating to the fact that some
random girl just walked up to him and told him he looked like Liam
Neeson, well-known film star.
No, nothing can ruin this moment. I have conquered my fear, and have
an absolutely delicious feeling enveloping me to show for it. All I
have to do now is wait until the two-and-a-half hour drive back home
is over so I can boast to my mother I did, in fact, go up
to someone and inform them they look like a famous actor.
The clock strikes ten 'o clock a.m. and already today is a wonderful
day.
(Cross my heart, this^^ is JUST how the Security Guy looks!)
