Nothing looked right to me. I had spent thirty five and a half minutes straightening my hair, applying eyeliner and mascara, primping, priming, shaving, showering. I had to smell incredible, look incredible, be incredible. Out of nerves, I cut my own bangs.
“This is as good as you’re gonna get.” I told myself. I grabbed my purse, my mom and my phone and got into the car, on my way.
I never thought that I’d ever in my wildest dreams be going on another date with a different guy than the last one. The last guy never made me nervous. He never gave me chills or made me stammer or worry about my appearance. I could also tell that this new guy was completely different than the last, Looks aside, for they both looked like polar opposites anyways, they both presented themselves to the world in completely different ways. They differed in all ways except one: me.
I kept hearing the shrill tone of my phone ringing while I was in the car. While I asked my mother numerous times if it actually was ringing, she politely declined each time, slowly hinting that I was crazy.
We finally pulled up to the pizza place, where I was supposed to meet him. Dave stood, tall and solid, punching a number into his blue slab-of-a-phone. He looked collected, which made me feel even more scattered, and with a deep breath and a Hail Mary I approached him, fearful of what was to come.
He refused to let me pay for my own slice, which made me feel both uncomfortable and special at the same time.
We sat down and ate slowly, watching the townsfolk passing through, including every high school sophomore both Dave and I had ever met. This made me feel not only vulnerable but anxious, and I wondered what exactly these kids would think of me and him, sitting there in the pizza place, and if they all knew that I liked Dave as much as I did.
We made small talk, both of us unsure of what to say. What should I tell him? Certainly I would not want to scare him away, or make him think I was a freak who spent thirty five and a half minutes getting ready for him to just shrug me off as a freak. I felt like there was so much more at stake than there probably actually was. I wanted Dave to like me so much. So much.
So I took a deep breath and I told Dave of my father, my mother, how they are both needier than lost kittens, I told Dave how I currently resided with my mother, for my father had kicked me out of my home for opposing of him going out at eleven thirty on a Saturday night. My dad hadn’t even told me where he was going, when he’d be back, or that my brother and sister weren’t even in the house. Dave had met my father before, and ever since Dave had met him, he disliked him.
I told Dave of my hard years, and how I had plans to move out of my parent’s house and away to college ASAP, and he seemed generally interested in everything I said.
He could not talk by any means necessary, and every time I flashed him a smile or I laughed at a joke, he’d tell me how cute or beautiful I was. I would reply with a “You haven’t seen me when I wake up in the morning” back handed joke at myself, and he’d gently tell me
“Oh no. I bet you’re beautiful all the time.”
Dave’s eyes shone in the dim lighting of the pizzeria d he said carrying a different calm shade to it. It seemed that all my primping and styling paid off, when he complimented me on my outfit that I so pain stakingly put together.
I told him that he didn’t look so bad himself, in his black button-down and jeans and sneakers, and his light blue silicone wristband which he had worn each day since I had known him.
Dave told me the story of why he wore that wristband, to honor his aunt who died of multiple brain tumors, and my heart slowly warmed to him. Dave put his hands out, flat on the table, and the need to hold them chewed on the nerves in my fingertips.
I said how hard all of that must have been for him and took his hand brazenly, feeling empowered, doting on the masculinity of his large hands and rough calluses. Dave told me mine were soft and delicate, and the thought of kissing him began to float around in my mind. Restraining myself, however, I pulled my “move” and announced I was going to walk to the bathroom. I felt his eyes on me as I walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.
I like Dave so much. He was so sweet. Honest, genuine, smart, handsome, and everything I had ever wanted. Certainly not like the last guy, who took advantage of my vulnerability last year and exploited my picnic making skills.
Retreating back to the mirror, I looked at myself and murmured, “Oh, God I hope he likes me. Please let him like me.”
Five months later, he still does.