I
Jerome looked out the window. It was one hideous afternoon.
He closed the shutters and gazed about the room. A fit of nausea disturbed his
stomach. After some contemplation on the meaninglessness of the improbable, he
checked his FB (for which he loathed himself) and on seeing one new message and
two notifications, his heart throbbed. Both the notifications were some stupid
invitations—now the message. He first checked his mail to prolong
the suspense of pleasure.
“Might it be Catherine?”
he thought to himself. She hasn’t replied in over two days. He was sure she was
too busy.
“Yeah, busy,” he
uttered mocking his self-delusion and as he opened the message realising it’s
his annoying mate sending him some disgusting video again, his frustrated heart
got pierced with an aching pang. Claustrophobic as he was, he knew he had to
get out of that situation.
“But the date
had gone so well, so what went wrong? Why isn’t she answering…” he asked a dumb
looking computer screen which could use some cleaning.
The sweet
heavenly ring resounded through the room. A new message! It wasn’t on FB though
but on his phone. He eagerly opened the message. It was her!
“Hey I’m sorry i
haven’t answered sooner, I was super busy with school and stuff,” she wrote but
hasn’t continued in answering his initial question. A minute passed, two,
three.
“I did ask her a
question. She has something to react against, come on,” Jerome assured himself.
Still, after five minutes of silence, he broke.
She replied,
after 6 minutes, “yes, I had a great time as well. Well, not in the near
future. I’m not sure, I have to check.”
Jerome thought
to himself, “damn, damn, I wasn’t supposed to come outright asking for the next
date. First some small talk, survey the grounds, act casual…”
Ten excruciating
minutes passed. Jerome was trying to forcefully cool his head but to no avail:
“Should I end it if she tells me she doesn’t have time? Though she did say she
had a good, no, GREAT time. Yeah, everything’s ok,” repeated Jerome to himself
as a prayer. A message beeped:
“What about next
week, Wednesday?” she suggested. Jerome knew he already had something.
“No good, Thurs?”
he replied.
After three
hours came this:
“Weds would be
really good… Thurs no go, what about Fri at about noon?”
He had to take
it, despite the unromantic daylight. He’ll just have to charm her.
“Deal, so at 2
in front of the bookshop where we met?”
“Deal” read her
reply.
“Should I write
that I’m looking forward…” thought Jerome. He sent it and regretted it the
minute the ‘swoosh’ sound of a sent message escaped the little phone’s speakers.
She hasn’t replied.
II
The day came and
Jerome was darting nervously from one over-priced café to another touristy
damp, awaiting his date. She was 15 minutes late but upon her arrival started
apologising excessively. She looked gorgeous, better than he remembered. He
hoped she thought the same. They sat down in a nice café. He was able to
commence with a vigorous conversation and even a few jokes. Once he saw the
immediate response and her amused attention, he felt confident and the
afternoon started to unfold with great expectations.
He did the swift
‘interrogation’ game with questions like “Cats or dogs?” She was into it.
“Cats; wine for
Christ’s sake; the beach and only the beach, my father… wait what?!” She was
taken aback by her answering so quickly.
“It’s normal
that you chime with one or the other better,” he assured her.
“Well sure but I
love my mother. I feel guilty,” she replied and sipped on her Frankovka.
“I’m biased too,
take it easy. But we can change the subject if you wish.”
“Please…”
He thought
whether to resume with the questionnaire or whether to try to finally delve
into some topic in detail, to develop a proper conversation.
“Ok so we have
two options,” he began, “either we resume in this
overly-datish-getting-quickly-to-know-each-other kinda thing, or we can actually
talk… about the war in Syria,” he joked.
She contemplated
it for a bit and then she proposed, “Can’t we do both at the same time?” He
wasn’t sure whether she got the joke or whether it even was a joke to begin
with. “Like tell me, Jerome, AC/DC or Rolling Stones?”
“AC/DC all the
way.”
“Lions or eagles?”
“The kitties
always win.”
“The US or
Russia?”
“The eagle for
this one.”
“A state’s
sovereignty or externally imposed cease fire?”
“Was the fire
legitimate in the first place?”
“You tell me,”
she smiled satisfied with where she led it. “Damn, she’s not just gorgeous but
smart as well,” thought Jerome to himself and rebounded her smile right back at
her.
III
From the
restaurant on they walked by the riverbank finishing a dispute about the
indefinability of art. Jerome, himself being an English Lit major, felt obliged
to give some satisfactory answer.
“Well of course
there isn’t any dictionary definition. We can only propose that art might be
the creative reflection on the rather tragic condition of human kind; that it
rather lessens the loneliness,” he finished and shyly grabbed her hand. She
embraced it.
“I want to ask
you something,” he began but hesitated. She encouraged him to ask whatever.
“From the texts,”
he started, “it seemed as if you weren’t all that interested…” of course he regretted
saying it as soon as the words escaped his mouth.
“What? Really?”
she asked?
“Yes,” he
admitted, now he had to go with it: “it took you long time to answer, you
didn’t add anything to the conversation, never asked anything…”
She looked
surprised.
“Well,” she
began, “I guess I just don’t analyse it that much…”
He started
mumbling trying to turn it into some sort of a joke about him being the anxious
girl and how they should just switch the topic.
“No it’s ok, I
suppose I was rather lazy in my responses… But you know, it’s rather the real
thing that gets me excited.” She pressed his hand. He felt strong. He looked at
her, slid his hand behind her ear (what warm smooth skin she had) and kissed
her. Electric shots burst from his lips and from his toes to meet in the middle
to create an explosion of fireworks illuminating his gloomy insides. He
retracted, she smiled, they went on.
“Now that I
think of it, the real thing truly ain’t that bad,” he said still surfing the
wave of confidence spurred by the boat of her smile. She laughed. He hugged her
with her cuddling up beside him.
IV
They kissed
goodbye. When Jerome returned home he promised himself he wouldn’t text to her
that day. She texted first!
He replied: “I
enjoyed myself as well, you looked gorgeous, yes that wine truly was excellent,
next week would be best, yeah, R.I.P. Heaney, poor lad.” They texted for the
next few days; at times she’d reply immediately, at times a day after. When the
time came and he finally asked her when/where would they meet for the third
time, she hasn’t replied. He sunk into his chair and checked his FB. No new
messages.
