The Waiting Game

The Eighth Letter

By now it has to have been forty days since the day I died. That’s a long time if you think about it, but a short while when you live it. Don’t think about the numbers for a while, though, G. It’ll only kill you a little more every day if you keep thinking about it like that.

Today, we’re going to look back on the days that we didn’t have to count.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we?

I was so nervous when I first asked you out that I couldn’t even do it in person. I instant messaged you on Facebook. That was lame and I know it but you were always the girl I watched from afar and you weren’t the one that was close enough to touch. You felt so, so out of my league. I still think that you are.

You said yes. I couldn’t even explain how goofy and ridiculous the smile on my face must have looked as I read your message again and again, as it to reassure myself that it wasn’t all a dream. It was so lame, asking you not in person, not being able to see if you were just as pleased as I was. But I don’t really regret it. It almost made it better when we next saw each other, because I didn’t know what the reaction would be.

We made plans for me to pick you up at one thirty. I got there at one twenty but I forgot which house was yours, so I parked in the street in front of a randomly selected house and helplessly wandered around your neighborhood for a little bit, cursing not asking for your number so I could have just called you. With five minutes to spare, I just picked a house at random and rang the doorbell. It was yours.

You answered. And I didn’t know what to say.

You were smiling. It was a shy smile, but I could see that you were excited for the outing—would it be a pre-date? Anyway, you met my eyes and you skipped forward, throwing your arms around me and saying that it was good to see me. Almost mechanically, I raised my arms up and hugged you back.

I still wasn’t quite sure where we stood back then. I didn’t know if you thought that it was a date or if it was a fun day out with a guy you’ve known in passing since grade school.

Since I’m lame, I took you to that place everyone at school talks about that sells frozen yogurt, The Yogurt Spot. On the way there we both confessed that we had never even had frozen yogurt before and we both laughed. When I parked I panicked and took it too sharp, making myself look like a total dick. But you just smiled at me. As if nothing had even happened.

Frozen yogurt was surprisingly delicious.

I got a mixture of about three different flavors, kind of curious about how this was going to taste. You got chocolate, but you did turn on the nozzle of Cake Batter Up and took a taste with your finger. I watched you, impressed, but you didn’t even look swayed that our posh neighborhood probably just all collectively gasped at once.

A smirk curled onto my face when I paid for us both. Because you were so shocked when I told the guy we were together and you put the cup on the scale so hesitantly, like you were trying to think of some way to fight me. I pursed my lips together when I handed over the money, hoping that you wouldn’t notice my amusement. You busied yourself with grabbing the spoons, your eyes looking everywhere but at mine.

I think you and I both knew what, when the guy pays, it’s usually a date. And it was.

Well. To me.

Anyway. We sat down to eat and I don’t think you looked me in the eye once. I know that you said that your greatest fault was not being able to look people in the eye but I didn’t know that then, and I wondered what you were looking away from. I started to get self-conscious. You might have believed that guys can, but I really did right then.