Mood: Invisible / Ignored .: Salted :.
Listening to: .: Mona Lisa Smile Soundtrack :.
Reading: .: Becoming Evil :.
Watching: .: Equilibrium :.
Inquisition: What is the one thing you eat the most of?
Aloha
We sat across from each in the booth closest to the door, each of us staring into space. I leaned back against the window, one leg resting gauntly across the bench, the other with my foot on the floor. I sipped at my Sprite in it’s dripping cup, drumming gently on the back of the booth with my other hand. She picked at the remains of her omelet and warmed her hand on the oddly shaped mug of coffee, studying her reflection in the inky black window. The remains of unwanted tomato and onion lay on a tiny plate from the triple-decker cheeseburger I had eaten, along with too many condiments for a Waffle House to have. An Asian couple sat at the bar talking quietly to themselves, and the grill sizzled above the absurd arguments of the staff, who were fighting about whether voting for Kerry was non patriotic and whether flying American flags on cars was pro-Bush.
When the server asked us no less than 6 times whether we wanted refills, despite getting refused each and every time, we decided it was time to leave. She stretched painfully. Despite the back rub I had given her back at the room, she was still tense, and the pain was enough to make her not want to move.
We drove back to my place, and I grabbed the sneakers we had picked up at Gabe’s. It was weird. Everything automatic within me told me I was to kiss her. A small, encouraging peck on the cheek, just to cheer her up from the miserable day she had. Instinctively my head jerked back, though she didn’t notice. I told her I’d be praying for her and hoped she would be ok. She smiled faintly and said thanks.
I got out and jogged across the street, dodging cars. She stayed there. I waved.
She sat there until I went inside, then drove off.
It was strange.
She’d kissed me on the cheek over half a dozen times, though I’d yet to return the favour.
As I locked the door behind me, I thought of the conversation Alvin and I had a couple nights earlier online. Alvin is Indonesian, and a very good friend and former schoolmate of Caroline’s.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked, “You gonna wait forever?”
“It’s not right yet.” I smiled sadly, “I’m over it, yes. But it’s still so hard to trust anyone yet.”
It’s not right yet.