First encounters breed creativity

Sit, Stare, smile, repeat.

"Welcome to our humble establishment," muttered an overactive server.

He sat, clamminess kept him from resting his hands on the table, afraid that the sweat, a product of his nervousness, would leave unattractive marks on it. He could never truly know what she was thinking, and this frightened him all the more.

"Just a coffee," both of them said simultaneously, as if programmed to do so.

The cigarettes had been lit, and the smoke flowed out of their mouths, breaking over their teeth like water would break over rocks in a stream. Conversation came easily, and this seemed to make both parties a bit more relaxed.

"I have nice things," he said.

"That's cool, I guess," she replied

Score one for incompetence.

The overall noisiness of the room seemed to fade as more sentences were uttered. Eventually all that could be heard was two voices, though weak and humble, they were the only voices that seemed interesting to them. The more that was said, the less he felt obligated to impress her.

"This could become habit forming," he thought to himself amidst the conversation.

The fact that he didn't need an outside source to entertain them, created inside him a feeling of true comfortability. They sat and glanced. Smiled and nodded. Laughed at each other's jokes and traded compliments. They both just needed a friend, and it seemed as if they both had made one.

Minutes came and went, Phone calls went unanswered, and text messages went semi-ignored.

"Let’s deal with the real world later," seemed to be the unspoken, mutual agreement between the two.

After an undetermined amount of time they fled the scene, and into the breezy parking lot. Their evening had to be cut short due to "technical difficulties." Even though he had reason to be uncomfortable, it was near impossible for him to do so. Comfortable friends are friends indeed.

"The world is a massive pool of fire, and only those with flame resistant clothing get out alive."

He was lucky he laid out his fire-proof t-shirt and pants the night before.

They both had to go their separate ways but didn't want to. At least he thought it to be the collective opinion of the two.

He felt a strong urge to hug her like he had known her for ten years. He did so, and that was that.

"You’re the kind of girl I'm afraid to kiss." He said.

Not that he was afraid of her, but afraid of whether or not it was appropriate.

"FUCK IT"

He leaned in and gave her a weak, pathetic kiss. The kind of kiss you gave your grandmother, only I don't know many people who kiss their grandmothers on the lips.

"Call me sometime," he said, and oddly enough, he believed that she would, even though his self esteem would lead him to believe otherwise.

-Squidney Charleston-