Zombies Don't Kiss & Tell
My blind date is a zombie.
Wow; just... awesome.
Okay, no, I mean... that's fine.
No biggie.
I'll just make sure to ask for a corner booth, blow out the candle the minute we get there and order her steak (really, really) rare; we're cool.
I've been quiet too long, standing just outside the cozy little café where in his maniacal, laughing voice Cosgrove told me to meet "the woman of my dreams."
Now I can see why he couldn't stop that insane giggle of his when we spoke on the phone earlier that day.
She's looking at the yellow carnation wedged between the letter on my jacket and my three varsity pins that surround it, so it's a little too late to back out now.
"Hi," I say, putting out an eager hand. "I'm Jordy. Are you... Tia?"
She doesn't look like a Tia.
Don't get me wrong, even though it's obvious she's a zombie she's not... ugly.
Far from it.
In fact, she's pretty darn cute; just not exotic-sounding like I'd pictured when Cosgrove told me her name.
Tia smiles quickly, raising a hand to cover her yellow teeth but not stopping to shake mine, either.
I'm good with that; some girls just don't do handshakes.
I get it.
"Good," I say. "Are you... hungry?"
She looks around, maybe wondering if anyone is listening and growls in a mock B-movie zombie voice, "I'm always hungry."
Then she snorts.
Not, like a "Feed me BBBBRRAAAAIIINNNNSSS!" kind of snort but a goofy girl snort, like girls will when they're sitting in the library among friends and forget that a few jocks are sitting a few feet away in the magazine section looking at the swimsuit issue of Sports for Sports.
I smile and wonder if maybe it's just gas.
I've heard zombies have a problem controlling that kind of thing, so I give her the benefit of the doubt.
Actually, she smells pretty good.
The downtown curb is bustling this time of night, the Saturday evening crowd in downtown Ambrosia, Alabama milling about and everybody waiting for a table, so we're bunched kind of close there near the front door to the Gouda Café.
She smells like lilacs, maybe; some kind of flower, anyway.
She's wearing black heels, not too high, black tights, black fingernails and a silver hoodie in this kind of shimmery, metallic material.
The top is pulled up, covering what used to be red hair but is now a kind of wispy, faded orange.
She has on those sexy rectangular glasses and I wonder if, being dead, her eyesight has suffered any.
She looks like any other fun, funky teenage girl on a Saturday night, except for the ghostly pallor and waxy white fingers.
I dunno, it's not like the zombies are required to wear identification or anything, you just... know... when you see one.
And it's not just me, either; I can already see folks moving away from her, whispering about her, curling up their noses and rolling their eyes.
She doesn't seem to notice or, if she notices, care; I wonder if that's just because she's so used to it by now.
