The girl wondered why they had chosen to sit outside. The wind was sharp and sort of blew up the hem of her skirt, which she was constantly adjusting. At least it felt that way; maybe she was just nervous. It was the kind of first date where she became overly cautious of every minor detail.
She didn't really know where to look -- when she looked at him, he averted her gaze, and when she looked at her sandwich, she felt that she was rude. She wondered for a second why he didn't want to look at her. She had always fantasized that in those types of situations, her gentleman companion would be so captivated that he couldn't keep his eyes off of her.
But he had no trouble keeping them off, chatting idly about the goings on of his very perfect life. She sensed that they had a lot in common and should be getting on nicely, and so the flat conversation puzzled her. Might as well get personal? she thought, and threw out of left field, "So why don't you have a girlfriend?"
He answered easily, placidly, revealing that he did indeed have one and they had recently split up. It had been a long-term thing and they were on a break. She studied his face for reactions and expressions, looking to elaborate his story on her own. No remorse. No doubt. Not even any sheepishness for basically admitting that this date here was to help him sow his wild oats.
She regretted having asked him. The sense of casualness had dissipated, as neither one of them knew if one should probe a little more or if the other should volunteer a little more. He threw the question back at her, a little disinterested. "How about you, why don't you have a boyfriend?"
She realized that she had no prepared answer. It was another moment she had fantasized about before, a chance to be saucy and vixenish. And yet, in reality it was only awkward.
She laughed, wondering if she sounded nervous, or cynical, or both. "I don't know," she answered earnestly, "I guess that's the million-dollar question." She thought about saying that she was picky, but already knew the consequences of that cliche -- being read as high-maintenance or melodramatic.
There was no sunshine, and the wind had subsided. Everything around her suddenly looked very still and she stared ahead as if she were looking into a blankness that was her soul. She realized then that she could not really share the true answer to his question. That there was heartbreak in her past, which never quite healed. That there were feelings that were only buried, not gone. That dating, and all of this, was now incredibly silly next to this heaviness in her heart.
Both of their glasses were empty. One of them fidgeted and the noise of the chair scraping signalled an end to the lunch. "Shall we go?"
"Yes," she said, "Let's go."
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 2:30 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home