Erik was now in his twenties, but dates still scared the shit out of him. It seemed like he should have gotten over this by the time he received his high school diploma, but apparently this wasn't one of those things you could just toss off with some tasseled hat. It wasn't a very rational fear, anyway. As he saw it, he really didn't have a whole lot to be nervous about. The girlfriends he'd had always liked him a lot. (Well, almost always. There was that one.) It's just that whenever he met a new girl, she became a big deal. He would think about her all the time. For instance, last night he thought about Jennifer while eating dinner. In his head, they had a really charming conversation over their Big Macs and fries. When he didn't actually have to talk, words came so easily to him.
Now, though, he was faced with the task of making real conversation, and he knew it wasn't going to be like in his fantasies. In fact, she probably wasn't even going to be like he remembered her. Over the last week, he'd thought about her a lot, and in that time his memories got a bit distorted. It was like making a copy of a copy of a copy. All that Xeroxing blurred things. It made her outline soft and mailable, and it was up to him to interpret what was behind the static. Probably, he hadn't got right. In fact, he wasn't even entirely sure he would recognize her when she showed up.
He was standing in the middle of Hamilton Park now, lingering by the statue of that cavalry guy. You know, the one with the horse reared up and the man on top that wasn't freaking out at all. He had his arm outstretched with a sword pointed at the sky. If only Erik could be half that confident. Right now, he was just lingering in the shadow. Well, not the physical shadow. Just the metaphorical one. But, you know. . . .
Anyway, that's where they were going to meet. Five minutes ago. It was already 1:35. Obviously, she wasn't standing him up or anything. She'd liked their conversation as much as he had. They'd lingered in the cafe for four whole hours, and even when he had to rush off to basketball practice, it didn't really feel like either of them wanted to stop. See, things were different that first time. She just sat at his table, and he didn't have time to get nervous. He just started talking, and it was alright. In situations like that, he could actually be kind of charming. Well, as charming as he ever was. It's these long waits that got him riled up. Hopefully she'd forgive him a few jitters. Probably she would. She might even have them herself.
Erik was feeling awfully awkward, though, just standing out in the middle of the park. A bunch of other people were walking by with their dogs or their baby strollers. Sometimes young couples would pass by, holding eachothers hands or (in one case) with their arms wrapped eachothers waists. He looked pretty pathetic standing there all by himself, clearly waiting for somebody who hadn't yet showed up. Of course, he didn't catch anybody staring at him, either, but he was certain—absolutely certain in the most paranoid way, that they were looking at him when his back was turned. He knew it was a stupid idea. But so was getting nervous before a date. Just because something's stupid doesn't mean the brain won't think it.
The awkwardness eventually got to be too much for him, though, so he headed over to the food stall and bought a corndog. Of course, he didn't even like corndogs. It just gave him a purpose for being here. Yeah, you know, I'm just one of those guys who likes his street food. Probably, I'm gonna go off to handle important things when I'm done. Don't bother me now, though, 'cause I'm just savoring the sweet meat and cornbread of this here dog. Uh-huh. Erik took a seat beneath the platform, stretching his legs out like he was comfortable and casual. Yep, he did this sort of thing all the time.
He wolfed the first several bites down, then his teeth hit the popsickle stick (or whatever that thing was). Yeah, Erik, you've gotta pace yourself. A guy sitting around with just a popsickle stick will raise eyebrows. Better to take it slow. Better to really savor every bite and morsel of that yummy, gummy flesh. At a slower pace, he could make the corndog last at least another ten minutes.
And that's about how long it took. He was still sitting there all self-consciously casual when she appeared down the road. His heart gave a little beat, but that was alright. At least he recognized her. Standing up, he gave her a wave, and she smiled big and natural as she came over.
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