three dates

I.
he clutched his bag and ran ahead of them. he wasn't scared, oh no. he knew better than to be scared of a bunch of big bullies who only made fun of him because he had better hair and a better head under it - his mother was very wise - no, he ran to catch up -
to her.
she heard his footsteps racing toward her and turned to see, not big bad bullies - her mother was wise, too - but that boy from english with the weird smile and the piercing eyes. he stared at her a lot, but not in a creepy way, no. in a nice way. he appreciated her and she liked that. so she slowed to assist in his effort to walk beside her.
and he did.
they walked beside each other until she split off down her street, him continuing down his. and it was then they realized they were holding hands. they let go, almost as if embarrassed - or excited - or whatever it was, they looked at each other, shy and apologetic for letting such a thing happen. but they knew.
they knew.

II.
may i?
she asked, reaching for the glass which was sweating in the sun. she grabbed it without waiting for a response and drank the remaining liquid. they weren't on the porch for five minutes when he asked,
is it really that big of a deal if someone has a weak handshake on first meeting them?
for a girl it is,
she answered. she tilted the glass upwards and let an ice cube fall into her mouth. she elaborated between crunches.
see, if a guy meets a girl and has a weak handshake, he's lame in bed.
okay, he interjected.
i'm not done. but if his shake is weak, but he pulls in for a one-armed hug, he's a sleaze. some women like that, i dunno.
he nodded. she continued.
but if it's weak and flirty, like rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, or letting his hand slip out slowly as he pulls away, then,
she breathed heavily before continuing,
i wouldn't give that man a day.
a day before what? he asked, but her mind was elsewhere. maybe on the events of yesterday. maybe on a cloud that reminds her slightly of alan arkin, but with more defined cheek bones. maybe on the fact that it was early yet and they had yet to do anything they had planned for the day, but still had plenty of time.
but maybe her mind was on then. when everything just was and this was that and nothing changed, but no one cared because everything was perfect. yes, that's where she was, though still sitting on his porch. she was there. and he was not.

III.
they were sitting at a table waitressed by a persian woman with a big cheesy smile and an awkward walk. she limped a little and they watched whenever she walked away after taking their order or bringing their food or making sure they were satisfied with their meal. they watched to see if she fell, silently making bets with each other, but both betting she would.
nothing really seemed too important as they chit-chatted and laughed and sat nonchalantly staring at the other couples, but casually glancing back to see if the other is staring at them.
she liked him. really. the kind of like that made her stomach tingle and her thighs ache and her head spin and heart scream I WANT YOU! but she was playing it cool. she had to.
her friends said - as she was leaving to meet him tonight, mind you - that she was letting too much out and not getting enough in. they emphasized 'in' so their innuendo was made clear. clearer than necessary really. she knew, but at this point, she didn't care.
he looked happy, she thought. no, not happy. content. content being with her, sitting across the table, not speaking or speaking or whatever, just being.
and so there, in the candle light, she saw the man she would sleep with, not just tonight, but for the rest of her life. it'd been a year and she was certain he was the one. and even if he wasn't, she'd always remember him how he was at that moment. and that would make it alright.