My First Date

I was running late. I said that I'd be there at 5 (or around that time), but I was about 15 minutes away and the clock on the dashboard was telling me that I was seven minutes behind schedule. I was sure this boy was going to hate me, and he had every right to. I was the one who had suggested the time, but in my defense, I tried to emphasize around 5.


Soon, to make matters even better, one stop light turned into one hundred and the winter sun began to hide itself between the cushions of the clouds. Obviously, it wasn't my day. With or without me keeping my promise, the clock continued to add up minutes, and I began to attempt to calculate the reasons as to why I even suggest times or even go out.

"Wow, Hannah." Another light slowly fades to yellow and I cup my face inside my hands, trying to hide my embarrassment, although I was alone. "What a great first impression."

After what seemed to be an eternity, I pulled in to the parking lot of the designated meeting, happy that at least I wasn't an hour late. It could be worse.

Inside, coffee was brewing and clashing with a sweet waft of chocolate, drawing both lovers of coffee and the haters like magnets. The doors were heavy, breeze cold and atmosphere light. I stood, closed doors behind me, and felt the arctic winter air suddenly disappear behind me. And there, tucked in the corner, he sat. His light hair glowed in the fluorescent, fake lights. He hadn't left. And because of the delay I had already created, I had no time to hesitate. In a drive full of red lights, I finally saw a green.

"So," I sighed, walking to the table, "you probably hate me, but no worries. I would, too."

His blond hair bounced suddenly, his light eyes meeting my dark. I think I surprised him. "No, no. You were only 10, 15 minutes late?" He glanced at his watch then stood up to welcome me, as if I hadn't already made an entrance. Or was he accepting my apology? Whatever the case, I persevered lightly.

"Twenty, actually." I smiled weakly, trying to measure his irritability level, or lack thereof. "Sorry."

He smiled. I sat down in the closest chair. Coast was clear. Air was light. Sarcasm was strong. He wasn't mad, and if he was, he hid it well.

Little did he know that I had no idea what I was doing. This was my first date. Ever.

In high school, I was studious, but was never taught the basics of dating. Somehow, I assume, one is supposed to know how to flirt or dabble within the reigns. Whether it's a genetic or evolutionary trait, it missed me, while it is commonsense to pretty much everyone else. So, like everything else, I must walk through trials and errors, even with a thing as delicate as this.

So, here we were at the end of the night, and I was surprised. Dates aren't as bad as everyone claims. Plus, he wasn't a serial killer, and I'm sure he shared the same enthusiasm about me.

But no one told me that it's common curiosity for gentlemen to walk a girl to her car.

I pretty much ran away.


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