Youth's Mist

Youth's Mist Ch 7

Joven

One moment I'm spiraling down in a fiery ball of flames from my stumbling attempt at speaking to my Mystery Girl. It came out all wrong, and it felt like my tongue got stuck to the top of my mouth. The more I tried to fix my words, the worst it got. Like when you have the dry heaves and you just can't stop the stomach convulsions.

Did I really yell at her and then mutter to the heavens? Thinking of the Central Control Room, Hank and Stan have got to be rolling on the floor by now. If Heif, my best friend, had been here I know he could've stopped my mouth explosion. Never mind, Heif would be laughing too hard to help.

Then, surprisingly it seems, she smiles and takes my hand in a firm handshake. The spark at contact shocks me straight to my heart, like a heart attack. I might need a jolt to return my pulse to a normal beating rhythm. I knew it would be this way—perfect—and I have to remind myself to let go of her hand.

"So, Pann," I knew her name would be hot, "would you mind some company and maybe some funnel cake?" I ask. Her eyes widen, but she says nothing. "I'm secretly addicted to them, but would love to share some with you," I plead. Of course, I've seen her consume those things for years. I'm taking a risk to ask her on yogurt day, but I need something to stretch this time that I have with her. I actually don't like them, as sugar is not a big part of our dietary needs. But for Pann, I don't mind an extra trip to the dentist to get the chance to lick the sweet confection from her fingers. Whoa! Slow down, boy.

"Well, if you insist" she says.

Finally, she lets go of her purse. I'm still kind of confused why she would keep her hand inside and then pat the outside. Maybe she has a cell phone inside and wants to make sure she hasn't misplaced it? Or maybe it's a knife or weapon of some sort? Nah, not my sweet, gentle Pann.

Oh, to finally know her name, and eye color! Yes! Blue, she has blue eyes. Somehow, I knew they would be blue like the clearest lake. They have the slightest shade of green in them, and more freckles on her face than I realized. Pann (I'll never get tired of saying that name) has the cutest freckle pattern across her nose and under each eye. My male geared mind thinks a freckle hunt over the rest of her would be fun. Hey, I'm a guy. It's where our brain goes without any help.

I pick up her bento box, careful not to get too close. We begin walking towards the section of the park that has the assorted vendors. I find myself struggling to think of something to say, not usually a problem.

"Quick witted" and "with a sarcastic overture" are words I often hear when people describe me. One middle school report card stated, "Enjoys classmates, a little too much. Joven is friendly and out-going but needs to work on learning to remain seated. He can be incorrigible at times and tries to recruit others. Please work on Dewstone qualities: humility, patience, and integrity."

I don't recall what I learned in that teacher's class, but I do remember not wanting to take that report card home to my parents. I may have not learned ALL the Dewstone qualities, but Dad impressed on me the meaning of repentance. My letter of apology to the teacher made me very sorry, because I also missed video games for a week. Thankfully, Pann saved the awkwardness and she spoke first.

"So, do you often come here and search for damsels in distress?" she asks.

"Only on Tuesdays. That's when the prettiest ones are here," I reply and see a blush. She looks good in pink, especially when the color is on her cheeks.

Just as if we had been friends for years, we begin the back and forth communication of getting acquainted; like a dance between two people twisting and turning though a multitude of dialogue of information. Random at first; but then turning more specific.