With all the courage I could muster, I approached his booth. But... he wasn't there!! Could he be off, responding to an inaudible call for help?! The volunteers at his booth said that he left a little early. He had been working all day without a bite to eat, so he was getting food. Gee, the nerve. A man works 9 hours straight and wants to eat?! ;) But I wasn't so level headed in the moment. Instead, I think I responded with something to the effect of, "noooooo! I've been building up the courage to come see him all day. Will he be back?!" They didn't think he'd back until the next morning and asked if I'd be there. I didn't know if I'd have a babysitter or not, which is what I told them, suddenly realizing things were starting to unravel before my eyes...
Just then, the ComicCon employee from the night before, the one I was gushing about Dean to, happened into the booth. "Oh, it's you," she said in a friendly manner. How could she forget the nut who had been bouncing around in that very spot like a metal sphere inside a pinball machine just the night before?! I explained my sadness and she went to work. "Let me see what I can do," she said. "Oh, no no! I don't want to interrupt his eating," I lied. Well, it wasn't a complete lie. The level headed me that was somewhere in the background of my fogged state truly did want to let the man eat. Good grief! But that voice was severely overpowered by what I can only describe as "my kryptonite." Actually, it was my friend who put it this way after hearing my story, and boy was she right.
I don't know if you've ever had a chance to meet the one your heart throbbed for in those crucial formative years, but it does something to you that I can't fully explain. It's like you're immediately transported back to your 12-year-old self and become this awkward, yet full-of-hope, giddy pre-teen. However, your adult, I-know-better brain is still in there somewhere, trying to regain control. It's like that famous scene from Seinfeld, where Jerry's mind is playing chess with his... well, you know. But it's two completely different states of thinking in competition with one another. This is what I was contending with as I stood there, poster in hand, knees shaking, when...
OUT WALKS DEAN CAIN!
"Sorry," he said. "I was having a taco." "No! I'm sorry. You really didn't have to come back out," I said, trying to sound composed. All the while, my legs were jello and my smile a mile wide.
PAUSE Sadly, I put this story on hold at this point. On hold for a year. I didn't know if I'd ever post it anyway, as it's VERY embarrassing to reveal my alter ego, but I did know I wanted to remember the experience and this was a good place to document. I've just come off of FanX 2017. Alas, it didn't include a Dean sighting, but I did see friends experiencing their own kryptonite, which reminded me of my own magical experience a year back and made me want to revisit this memory. I wish I hadn't dropped off at the most important part of the story, but the experience seems tattooed on my brain like the giant S on Deans muscular arm in my poster. (Yes, I realize that's a fake tatt, but you get where I'm going with this.) I'm confident this is an accurate description of what happened next, but it will lack some of the detail, which is a super bummer! Anyhoo, let's get back to it.
I hand Dean my poster, explain that it has been on my wall for 20 years, and sprinkle in "I promise I'm usually normal" about 100 times. Again, it was the battle of the brains going on, and this was my adult brain's desperate attempt to salvage the situation when it was so clearly losing.
"What's your name," Dean asked.
"Well, if you check my jr. high notebooks, it's Megan Cain," I remarked with a grin the size of the Daily Planet.
Dean just laughed and went to work signing my post.
To my darling Megan (Cain?),
Such a pleasure to know you!
He was seriously such a sweetheart. If that autograph doesn't say it all, I don't know what does. Of course, that was before it was time for him to come out from behind the safety of the tall table dividing us. When it came time for pictures, I asked if I could give him a hug, but it was more like a full-body embrace. I kept squeezing his muscular arms and burying myself in his chest. Boy, did he smell good! And I was saying the stuff of a full-on crazy person. "Mmmm... You're so soft," I gushed, before my adult brain screamed DON'T TELL A MAN HE'S SOFT! "I mean, you're hard." NOT THAT EITHER "I mean you're cozy soft. I could just stay wrapped up right here all day." I was desperately trying to clarify that I meant he was perfect and cozy and comfortable, but it was a rapid downward spiral. He just laughed.
I then went on to say how I "even married a man who looks kind of like you." Ummm... creepy much? I mean, there is a definite resemblance, but I assure you I did not go out and seek a Dean lookalike to call my Mr. It was just a happy accident.