If I find in myself desires in which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.
~ C. S. Lewis
***
Black jeans, blue shirt, Converse... hair up or down?
I groan at myself. Since when did I ever care about how I look for Mac? Right. Brush your dang hair and calm down, Colby. I reluctantly but hurriedly tear a brush through the knots in my hair, wincing at the pulling and pinching on my scalp. I should just chop this all off. It'd save me an assload of trouble and time.
I chuck my brush onto my bed and take in my appearance in the mirror. My skinny frame is fitted in black and blue, colors I've been told I look nice in, and a long bohemian-themed crescent moon necklace hangs from my neck. My blonde/brown hair that usually isn't well kept is now straight and flat and clean from the shower I took after I got home from work. My eyes are outlined in a thin sweep of black liner and a touch of mascara coats my lashes. For once, I feel as if I don't look bad. This is a big step in my developing into a nice, good human.
The light outside is fading into a cold blue and the sun is reflecting off the clouds in muted oranges and pinks. I can see my dad and little brother down on the patio outside playing ladder ball, one of their favorite games since Braiden was a third grader. We played it all the time when we went on camping trips, and that's where my brother learned to play the game like a pro, figuratively beating us all into the ground whenever we played against him. I've never cared for any kinds of games other than video games, unlike my brother who can take on any game at any time, and probably win at it.
While Dad and Bray compete in the backyard, I hear my mom downstairs probably cooking dinner going from the clanking of pots and pans and plates and the sounds of boiling water and chopping knives. Her Bethel Live album is playing on her brand new Bose Bluetooth stereo, booming all the way up to my room.
I check my phone for the time, watching the numbers 6:57 winking up at me, then shove it back into my pocket, turning back to face myself in the mirror. Why am I so nervous? I shouldn't be this anxious about something so simple. Something Mac and I have done often for the past few months. So why am I shaking? Why is my heart racing a hundred miles an hour? Why does it seem as if I'm going to pee myself? And I'm serious about that last one. It's just Mac, it's not like -
"Colby!" My mom shouts from downstairs in the foyer. "Mac's here!" I swallow back a choke of surprise and with a racing heartbeat, I check my self in the mirror one last time and head downstairs.
In the foyer, my mother smiles at me descending the stairs as she wipes her hands on a dish towel and Mac...
"Wow Cole," He says with his signature smile and I feel my face heat up. "You look great." I smirk at him, trying to play off my embarrassment.
"You do too." And he does. I thought I might've been overdressing but I find now that my ensemble is perfect. He has on a freshly ironed light blue button down shirt tucked into his black slacks. He's wearing a nice pair of black dress shoes and to top it off, his dark hair has been combed out into a nicer version of his regular style and his black glasses perch on the bridge of his nose, framing his blue eyes.
"Twinsies." Mac squeals, waving his arms around, mocking the freshmen girls at school so perfectly my mom and I begin to laugh. "We totes have to take a selfie now." He continues in the same squeaky, girl voice as he takes out his phone to take a picture. He holds it up and snaps a picture of us, the second one including my mom in the background, making a goofy face at the camera and myself caught in mid-laugh.
