In the summer of 2000, I had grown apart from all of my friends. I was then, as I am now, socially anxious, but one day, I set a goal: I was going to have a conversation with one stranger every day after work in Manhattan before I went home. I succeeded, and a couple I chatted with about the band The London Suede (or Suede in their native England) invited me to a party. Then, as now, I couldn’t imagine a worse place to be than at a party where I knew literally no one, not even the hosts.

I made myself a deal: if I would go to the party and stay for an hour, minimum, I would go to the free concert with Mike Doughty, formerly of Soul Coughing. (There was another band playing after him, a little group no one’s ever heard of called They Might Be Larger Than Average? They Might Be Enormous People? They Might Be The NFC Football Team From New York? They Might Be Something.)

I went to the party, and I went to the concert (Mike Doughty was a huge disappointment), and keeping with my goal of talking to strangers, I forced myself to talk to the really beautiful woman dancing to the intermission elevator music like she was a marionette and her puppeteer had the hiccups. I walked up to her and internally smacked myself in the head when I said to her the following, “You must really like this music.” After a brief chat, she told me that my liking and wanting to illustrate comics was a deal-breaker, and she would not go out with me.

During our first date, she kissed me. Our second date, she tested me, and I passed. We saw X-Men in the theaters. Her last boyfriend, the reason for the deal-breaker that wasn’t, would not have found the humor in the movie that was unintentionally pretty goofy. (She tested me again later with my favorite movie, The Matrix, which has a surprising amount of comedy between the grab-you-by-the-lapels philosophy and the pointless bloodbaths.) Our third date found us on the Brooklyn Bridge and led to her falling off the bed when she was taking my pants off.

Her name was pronounced AND-ree-uh, but I pronounced it Ahn-DRAY-uh. I don’t know why.

Speaking of goofy, she was really goofy. That was one of the things I loved about her. Our honeymoon lasted the first six or seven months we were together, laughing, holding hands, being horny, and just having fun with each other. Unfortunately, the summer of 2001, I lost my job and sank into a deep depression, which led to me being unforgivably unpleasant, which I usually am between Memorial and Labor Days. Literally the day the heat broke and I started to recover was September 11, 2001. Unfortunately, her thirtieth birthday was September 13, 2001. We limped along as a couple until February 2002, when we were heading in different directions socially, and I put our relationship out of our misery.

The thing about her was that her last relationship was the worst relationship she ever head, followed by the one before it, so she exited us hating my guts. I had friends who had mutual friends with her, and my name could not even be mentioned around her without a meltdown. And that makes me sad. I’m one of those people who sees the past with rose-colored glasses (despite knowing how miserable I was through much of it), so I knew it was over, and I understand why, but I still remember how good it was when it was good.

For a long time, I thought the was “The One,” and she’s still one of the most important relationships I’ve ever had, even though we didn’t even last a year and a half. I remember walking with her through Prospect Park, listening to her laugh when we watched an episode of The Muppet Show for the forty-seventh time, spending a Halloween party dancing like we were the only people in the apartment. I was really, really in love with her, and that was a good feeling. I will never forget it, no matter how much she hates me.

That brings me to twenty-one years later and the Doctor Who fanfic I’m tinkering with. I’m not sure why, but I decided to base the Nth Doctor’s companion on her. Like my Andrea, she’s impatient, self-righteous, enthusiastic, and goofy. She’s also a gifted collage artist. When it came time to illustrate her, I found an album of pics that her professional photographer brother took and tried to use them as a reference. That did not work at all. So this weekend, I tried again, but did it entirely based on memory. This time I think I nailed it. Only a handful of people, including my parents and Barry, have any experience with her, and they have likely forgotten what she looks like, but this is how I remember her. I just wish there was some way to share it with her.