for last night. I had an amazing time,
I’d sent.
-
So did I. Next time, we need to find a place that’s open all night :)
Who says there’s going to be a next time?
-Please. There will be.
Getting cocky, I see.
-Not cocky. Just confident,
he corrects me,
and using deductive reasoning.
Always the lawyer, counselor. You’re right on the money.
-I do my best, doc. I’m glad you want to see me again.
I was hoping to, tonight. Do you have plans?
-I do, now, with you.
“You look pretty,” he says as he walks up to me.
My jeans and tunic top suddenly feel like a ball gown. He kisses my forehead, and I can still feel the soft pressure there as we pay for our drinks.
Time freezes as the sky turns from periwinkle to deep blue to black. We walk toward the stadium with no destination in particular, talking about everything from why fall is my favorite season to the fact that he is a Penn State football fan, and used to go to all the games with the colors painted on his chest.
“My mom told me she wouldn’t pay for my funeral when I died of pneumonia,” he tells me with a chuckle. Sports are a difference in our interests. He thinks I’m funny for not being a fan of the big football program here, and I tell him he’s beginning to sound like Sophia, who moped for three days when she was unable to purchase student season tickets because they sold out in minutes.
“Our senior year is going to suck!” Sophia had cried, clicking the refresh button on her browser like it would change the outcome.
“Soph, I’m pretty sure the success of our senior year isn’t dependent on whether we’re cheering on a football team,” I told her patiently, but she whined about it anyway. Before James and I know it, we’ve come full circle.
He proposes going to the arboretum so we cross the street toward the law school and soccer fields. Walking along Park Avenue is like balancing two worlds–cement dorms and all the classroom buildings on the left, and farms and greenery on the right. The arboretum glows in the distance, its neat pathways and plants lit up by the soccer field lights a block away.
James catches me watching him and gives me a shy, faint smile. His eyes travel down my arms, and his right hand slowly makes a move toward my left. I hold my breath, and the clouds of moisture I’ve been exhaling into the atmosphere dissipate as I wait for him. Every millimeter closing the gap between us is in slow motion, and the tingle in my nerves intensifies, reaching a peak where I want to scream just to break the anticipation. His fingers skim the inside of my forearm and leave a trail of sensation behind them. As his hand travels slowly down my wrist, mine responds. My fingers find his and twine with them. It takes all of two seconds, but feels like much longer.
The stars, twinkling in all their glory, brighten and align themselves in perfect concentric circles as if the universe is creating the perfect setting for an epic romance. Everything around us, from the breeze to the shifting grass, has a softly whispered undertone:
This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let it happen.
The charge between our hands ignites and feels like it’s bursting out from within me. Or maybe that’s just my heartbeat. I have never felt such contentment or wonder. This is where I am meant to be.
“So, um, thanks for coming out tonight…” I start breathlessly. It feels as though he’s come to my lame party and made it incredible by simply showing up. “I mean, I hoped you would, but I’m glad you did.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He gives my hand a quick squeeze as if to illustrate his point. “I’m always looking at the clock, like, ‘hurry the hell up, I’m seeing Nithya.’”
It makes me happy. How many times have I done the same thing? Hundreds? Thousands? He mistakes my giddy giggle for mockery.
“That’s probably not a really manly thing to admit,” he adds as an afterthought.
“It was
I’d sent.
-
So did I. Next time, we need to find a place that’s open all night :)
Who says there’s going to be a next time?
-Please. There will be.
Getting cocky, I see.
-Not cocky. Just confident,
he corrects me,
and using deductive reasoning.
Always the lawyer, counselor. You’re right on the money.
-I do my best, doc. I’m glad you want to see me again.
I was hoping to, tonight. Do you have plans?
-I do, now, with you.
“You look pretty,” he says as he walks up to me.
My jeans and tunic top suddenly feel like a ball gown. He kisses my forehead, and I can still feel the soft pressure there as we pay for our drinks.
Time freezes as the sky turns from periwinkle to deep blue to black. We walk toward the stadium with no destination in particular, talking about everything from why fall is my favorite season to the fact that he is a Penn State football fan, and used to go to all the games with the colors painted on his chest.
“My mom told me she wouldn’t pay for my funeral when I died of pneumonia,” he tells me with a chuckle. Sports are a difference in our interests. He thinks I’m funny for not being a fan of the big football program here, and I tell him he’s beginning to sound like Sophia, who moped for three days when she was unable to purchase student season tickets because they sold out in minutes.
“Our senior year is going to suck!” Sophia had cried, clicking the refresh button on her browser like it would change the outcome.
“Soph, I’m pretty sure the success of our senior year isn’t dependent on whether we’re cheering on a football team,” I told her patiently, but she whined about it anyway. Before James and I know it, we’ve come full circle.
He proposes going to the arboretum so we cross the street toward the law school and soccer fields. Walking along Park Avenue is like balancing two worlds–cement dorms and all the classroom buildings on the left, and farms and greenery on the right. The arboretum glows in the distance, its neat pathways and plants lit up by the soccer field lights a block away.
James catches me watching him and gives me a shy, faint smile. His eyes travel down my arms, and his right hand slowly makes a move toward my left. I hold my breath, and the clouds of moisture I’ve been exhaling into the atmosphere dissipate as I wait for him. Every millimeter closing the gap between us is in slow motion, and the tingle in my nerves intensifies, reaching a peak where I want to scream just to break the anticipation. His fingers skim the inside of my forearm and leave a trail of sensation behind them. As his hand travels slowly down my wrist, mine responds. My fingers find his and twine with them. It takes all of two seconds, but feels like much longer.
The stars, twinkling in all their glory, brighten and align themselves in perfect concentric circles as if the universe is creating the perfect setting for an epic romance. Everything around us, from the breeze to the shifting grass, has a softly whispered undertone:
This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let it happen.
The charge between our hands ignites and feels like it’s bursting out from within me. Or maybe that’s just my heartbeat. I have never felt such contentment or wonder. This is where I am meant to be.
“So, um, thanks for coming out tonight…” I start breathlessly. It feels as though he’s come to my lame party and made it incredible by simply showing up. “I mean, I hoped you would, but I’m glad you did.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He gives my hand a quick squeeze as if to illustrate his point. “I’m always looking at the clock, like, ‘hurry the hell up, I’m seeing Nithya.’”
It makes me happy. How many times have I done the same thing? Hundreds? Thousands? He mistakes my giddy giggle for mockery.
“That’s probably not a really manly thing to admit,” he adds as an afterthought.
“It was
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