First Date

Part 2

Yes, what a sweet boy indeed.

Look, with all his clothes laid out on the bed, not a crease to be seen! It would be excessively harsh to say that he hadn't put in the effort. He'd just finished laying out his jumper after much debate over whether he'd need one.

Of course, it was cold outside. But they weren't going to be outside, only in his room. In the end, he decided to lay it out anyway. After all, he could always take it off if he got too hot.

An important lesson his mother taught him was it always better to have something and not need it than need it and not have it.

Poor boy. He learned that lesson the hard way.

That was in the past though and today was the present. He couldn't much care for the past on a day like today, when so many things were destined to happen.

Then he wondered.

He wondered if it was fate. Fate that today was actually happening, that he and Angela had found each other in this life. This life, where so many little things could push people away from one another and bring others together. Was it fate? Luck?

He couldn't say.

He wasn't the smartest boy, but he knew one thing. He sure wasn't going to be a philosopher!

He decided it was time. He dressed in the clothes he'd so neatly laid out for himself. He looked wonderful, even to himself, which had been a rarity throughout his life. His clothes were straight, well fitted. His hair was neat and his face was spotless. Earlier, he'd made sure to smell nice and wash out every nook and cranny of his being.

Perfection was what he wanted. He couldn't be anything less for her. Still, with all the perfection in the world, he'd still be nothing in comparison to Angela.

Excitement crept in. Wearing the clothes had brought with it the realisation that the time was almost upon him. But with too much energy and excitement came nerves.

Just like that, it crashed down on him.

His underarms started to sweat and his hands tremered. His palms were slick. His stomach twisted and turned in ways he didn't think were possible.

Weak at the knees, sick to the gut. All accompanied by the thundering headache roaring away in his skull.

Breathe, he told himself. Slower. It was the only way to stop the pounding of his chest and the leaking of his pores. He had to slow it down.

Slowly. Slowly. Slower. Slower still.

One, two, three. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale.

His body calmed. The monstrous anxiety seemed to retreat a short way. It wasn't perfect in his eyes, but it was a start. He kept going, kept pursuing the goal of attaining the state he was in mere minutes ago.

Doorbell.

Oh, no!

The doorbell!

She couldn't be here yet. Now he panicked. All at once the storm inside himself erupted once more. Like a volcano it shredded his preparation.

A mask. He had to mask it. It was the only way. Accept it and live with it. She was here so there was no turning back, not now. He couldn't cancel anymore.

Okay. It was okay. Everything was fine, nothing had changed.

Stick to the plan, he told himself.

If he stuck to the plan, it would all be okay.

The front door stood over him as the final barrier. On the other side, directly, Angela stood. This last physical barrier to disperse, and he would once again gaze upon Angela's immense beauty.

He grabbed the door handle, but his hand almost slipped away immediately. Almost. He twisted the knob and pulled back the door.

And it wasn't Angela that stunned him. It was the sun itself that burned into his skin with that heat. The only reprieve was where the sun was blocked by Angela herself. He squinted at her, the silhouette. Reminiscent of an angel. Second by second he waited for more of her features to become apparent.

It was no longer the sun. Angela stunned him.

"Hi," he said, choking out the word.

"Hello," she blushed and looked at the ground. Her hands held one another at her stomach. Her hair hung free over her shoulders and her sundress hugged her skin as if the two were made for eachother.

The boy stood in the doorway as if he shouldn't have been there. His eyes could hardly make contact with those of Angela and it disappointed him. He'd so looked forward to sharing eye contact with her. They were his favourite feature of hers and he hated that he couldn't bare to look at them.

"Do you want to come in?" He asked.

Of course she does! He told himself. Or else she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't have knocked on the door. What a stupid question!

A drip of sweat slipped from his hairline, down his forehead and sunk into his eyebrow. He felt the coldness of it. He anticipated the stinging that would come once it reached his eye. But he couldn't wipe it. For some reason, his hands refused to cooperate.

"Of course," Angela said, giggling all the while.

Told you! The boy thought.

"Please," he said, smiling and stepping to the side. He directed her inside, offering his hand like a true gentleman. He tried to forget the physical torture his body was administering to him.

He looked for his mother but she wasn't in sight for the moment. He wanted to introduce her. Oh well. That would have to wait. He couldn't stand around silent all day.

No way.

Taking Angela's hand, he led her upstairs to his room. Her hand was so warm, so soft. And once he got used to holding it, he forgot he ever was at all. He was lost in the touch of her skin.

Reaching his room, he finally found the courage to look her in the eyes. Angela looked back into his, and time came to an absolute halt.