You were half sitting, half laying on your old futon sofa with your bodies mangled together like a newspaper in the rain. You remember your hand finding its way to hers, and when your fingers laced you felt a light squeeze. It was a silent admission: the only way she could ask ‘what took you so long’ without having to. Her hair was a frizzy and a mess, makeup faded and runny, nails uneven with the dull remnants of last weeks violet pink.
She was radiant. You felt your eyes linger, wanting to tell her all about the quiet storm brewing inside of you. You cleared your throat.
“That nose piercing looks ridiculous.” Was what you said, reaping your reward: a hard-ish slap across the face. But she was smiling, though. You always made her smile.
“Well I don’t care. I’ve always wanted one but I was afraid of how I’d look, or what people would think. I finally decided to get it just for me, just because I like it.”
You were never really a romantic, never saw the point in things like marriage or family, relationships or even friends. You figured them distractions, momentary lapses we make to forget one cold and lonely truth. Life never made much sense to somebody like you, but when you watched her name a falling leaf Al-fall-fa, or count the tiles on your bedroom floor, somehow it kind of did.
“In that case, I guess I like it too.” You said. She tilted her head and flashed a wide grin, one of her favorite movements. It was her special grin. Her ‘You-think-I’m-so-amazing-and-I-know-it’ grin.
“Because now it has personality?” she asked, and you nodded slightly. When you do, something makes her eyes go soft.
“Let’s kiss.” You start to say. “Let’s kiss, but not right now. Let’s kiss right at midnight. What? Stop laughing, it’s romantic. Isn’t this what romantic people do?” She’s half amused, with a wonder in her smile that has holds you like a fire, and you are Joan of Arc.
She shifts her gaze to the clock. It responds 11:58PM.
“Why wait so long?