How His Gift Saved Me

The Plans

-Tom-

Mrs. Welch was slowly scratching the writing prompt on the blackboard as I walked into class. I looked over to see Leigh, early as usual, eagerly gripping her pencil. She wore a mustard yellow skirt which hugged her hips, ending just above her knee. Pairing the bizarrely yellow skirt, she had a black loosely-fitting v neck top tucked into the top of her skirt and a paisley flowered scarf tied around her neck which somehow seemed to make her odd choices come together. Her curled chocolate hair was pulled back into a loose bun, except for a few escapee curls which softly hugged her pale face.

Clothing wasn't something I typically paid attention to, but Leigh's outfits always seemed to reflect her personality so well. I found it entertaining and looked forward to seeing what she'd wear each day. It was almost as though she treated her outfits as though they were a part of her, telling their own story about who she was. Her bright colors and odd combinations reflected the bold and strong person I knew her to be.

I took my seat across from her, noting the extra sparkle in her olive green eyes. I wondered to myself about what had her so giddy. Mrs. Welch had finished with the prompt:

Today I'd like you to write about your first date. It may have been a dream, embarrassing, mortifying, or wonderful. Write whatever you'd like about it- what you learned, what you liked, what you hated, etc. Only one rule: be honest.

Shit. Sometimes I wondered what Mrs. Welch was thinking when she picked the prompts. I didn't mind sharing stories of mine with Leigh, but that? That sucked. I peered over at Leigh, who was twiddling her pencil between her fingers. She always did that, and I never understood why. Did she think it was going to bring the ideas quicker? I laughed to myself, causing her to look up at me. Her cheeks reddened, realizing I was laughing at her.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

"Nope, I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"I'm curious. Do you really think twiddling your pencil faster will make your ideas come to you faster?"

"I twiddle my pencil?"

I nodded in confirmation.

"Crap! I hate when other people do that. It's so annoying," she mumbled, slapping her hand to her forehead.

It was so funny how easily upset she was over the most trivial things. Her forehead crinkled up, raising her eyebrows, to display the most quizzical expression.

"What are you writing about?" she asked, smiling.

"It would appear as though I'm the one with writer's block this time around."

"C'mon! I'm sure you've got some funny date stories to tell," she said. "Girls being all 'psycho-babbly-obsessive-touchy-feely' with you," she added mockingly.

I leaned in towards the middle of our two desks and whispered, "That is exactly why I don't date."

That was a lie. Or a partial lie, really. I hated how crazy girls were about me. It was nice to be liked and all, but they didn't really like me. They liked their dream-version of me. So I guess I didn't really lie to Leigh. It was part of why I didn't date. The other reason was... Well I guess I have to write about it in my prompt, seeing how it was my first and last date I ever went on. It was really the only one I could write about.

Leigh had already finished writing her response to the topic. Damn, Mrs. Welch only gave us the prompt 15 minutes earlier!

"Well you're done unusually early. What'd ya write about?"