Steely Romance

I was too spooked to glance up at Him as we walked from my place to the venue which was just down the street. He brought with him a small black umbrella which we huddled under to stay dry. In the cracked sidewalks were pools of rainwater we stepped over. My breath jerked each time my elbow brushed against his shirt and then it occurred to me, ''I'd never navigated these close inches while having feelings for the guy"

The prospect of being someone's date used to embarrass me deeply. So far as I was concerned, the word ''date" held too much meaning. I operated in a world that was hopelessly noncommittal. My sentences were punctuated with ''Like" and "whatever", the linguistic indifference that was forged, adopted and is to every subsequent age bracket just as natural as "if", "and", or "but". ''Date" was too certain a word in a world that preferred vagueness. To me, it meant a responsibility to be entertaining, bright, and opinionated. Being His date that night, felt like a terrible and terrifying burden.

It was pretty obvious that the place was outfitted to be "romantic", which was or rather still is another word that disquiets me. I haven't gotten over the feeling that there's too much pressure to feel affectionate in proximity to flowers or candlesticks, or in formal attire. It'll probably always be nearly impossible for me to feel an affinity for someone unless we're both dressed casually, unless we're both just being fun and silly. That night, even the furniture looked like they were canoodling.

One moment I was lost in thought and the next, His palm lay flat in the hollow between my shoulder blades. I felt a fluttering spark like the moment an insect collides with a bug-zapper. I took it as proof that my synapses needed re-tuning. It was an electrical surge and I knew I needed to get away from him, I needed to bolt.......Its not that I didn't like His fingertips on the back of my neck; it was just the opposite but I believed my desire for him was private. Privately, I wanted, a great deal. I wanted in heaps and dizzying doses, and I wanted many times over; I wanted overkill. But publicly, I didn't want my desire to look excessive, especially not to Him. So I moved away, I went outside to get some air and also to get a handle on my hot cheeks, my jitters, and my speechlessness. And it worked cos the next time He put an arm around me, I was as serene as the surface of a lake; I was something pretty and reflective that didn't dare ripple.