Bits And Pieces | ongoing

Following Me?

Speed up or slow down? I can't even think! I chance a glance behind my shoulder. All 5'10" of green eyes, soft brown hair, and glasses still there, following me. What to do? 

Sighing, I remember in chemistry how I'd fantasize what I would do in this sort of situation, but now I can't even think straight. With my heart banging against my ribs, fighting to get out, I take a deep breath and stop walking. Taking another, I spin around, trying to muster my most charming smile, praying it doesn't look constipated. He'd stopped to smell some roses. My heart pangs again, reminding me (not for the second time) of what an awesome human being Mark is. 

Fingers trembling, I raise my hand and squeak out, "Hello." My glasses seemingly migrate up my nose while I try not to break a sweat. His head snaps up, looking slightly startled, either embarrassed that a) I've noticed him following me, b) I caught him sniffing flowers, or c) he's confused because he isn't following me at all. This last thought makes my heart plummet. It should've dawned on me sooner that he wouldn't be following me; a 5'4", freckled, brown-eyed, brown-haired, glasses-wearing (I'd always imagined that he wouldn't mind that though) nobody. 

Because, in all honesty, I'm no one next to Mark; who is a star mathlete, who can dive for a volleyball faster than the school's starting receiver, who opens the door for girls, who doesn't need cologne, who can recite from heart Romeo and Juliet's famous dialogue. I mean, how can I compete with that, let alone match him well enough that he would notice me? For love's sake, he's a nerd's dreamboat! 

After this revelation, I turn my burning, turning-to-ashes face away from the aforestated dreamboat. 

"WAIT!" Clattering footsteps pound the cement behind me. Cringing, I turn slowly toward the voice. 

"Amara." My name sounds soft and pretty in Mark's mouth. His mouth. My mind quickly spirals on this new concept which it had previously blocked, but I spin around quickly to stop that foreign train of thought. He stands about two feet away, so close I can see the little golden flecks in his eyes I've studied so hard and for so long. His face looks earnest and (dare I think it?) hopeful even. 

"I've been wanting to talk to you," He says, brilliant eyes and dark eyebrows suddenly finding the sidewalk captivating.

"Me too," I blurt out before my brain can reel my tongue back in my head. 

"I mean, with you, of course." Backpedaling, great way to go Amara. Very smooth. But his eyes are back on mine now, which is heartening. 

"'Cause I talk to myself all the time." Nevermind, scratch that. My mouth has become a piece of artificial intelligence now, and it has my brain captive. I try to laugh it off a little, my brain fiercely attempting to communicate telepathically with Mark's in a desperate plea for him to stay, forgive my stupid joke and verbal clumsiness and just LOVE MEEEE--Wait, he's smiling. It's a small, shy smile, but he's shuffling closer, that sweet mouth and face and all 5'10" of a mathlete coming nearer and nearer and I think I'm mentally drowning--

He clears his throat, looking handsomely bashful. "I've wanted to talk to you for a while now, actually," He runs a hand through his already messy and incredibly soft-looking hair. The evening sun glints off of his square glasses. 

"I told my mom that I like you, but I never know how to talk to you because--" He searches my face as my heart begins to fly like a wedding dove. He talked to his mom about me? Hold the phone, he said he likes me! Praise the Lord! Let the internal squealing-fest commence. 

"Well because you're so nice to everyone, and although you sit alone everywhere, you aren't mean or anything," He pushes up his glasses as he searches the sky for words. I fight the urge to hug him. 

"You made me nervous, I guess." He laughs a little, embarrassed now. My ears tingle. This is too good to be true. It's right out of one of those online web stories I read when I can. 

Plunging in heart first, I say my bit now. "Well, is it alright for me to say now that I've liked you since September?" I ask, grinning ear to ear like a loon. His smile widens, lightening his eyes and making him impossibly more becoming to me.

"I think so, since I've liked you since I moved in July." By now we're both smiling so much we must look like clowns. My heart feels like a soaring hot-air balloon, flying over green hills and valleys in a sweet blue sky.

"I don't know about you, but I think this calls for some celebratory coffee," He says as he dashingly takes my hand in his large one. It's a strong hand, made so by doing lots of math calculations, I suppose. Shivering, I giggle. I squeeze it and he squeezes back, warming my hand. 

"Caramel macchiato without whip, right?" I ask, heart still throbbing. Simultaneously we push our glasses up together. He's looking at me so intensively, I have to look away. But wait, he wasn't freaked out by the fact that I know what coffee he likes--I knew it. He's just amazing. What if it's genetic? Wait, what if we get married and have babies and they're all charming little mixes of my clumsiness and his genetic amazingness and--

"That's right," He drops my hand for a beat while my heart temporarily plummets, but then he offers me his arm instead and I take it, my hand resting in the crook of his elbow. We begin walking back toward The Coffee Nook, slowly, savoring this moment. Every now and again I'll look up at him and bite my lip a little as he looks back at me with a glint deep in his eye.

I begin to lean on him more. "Please pinch me, Amara. I have to be sure I'm not dreaming." He says dreamily. I lightly pinch the skin on his tight forearm. I feel him sigh more than hear him. 

"Do the same for me too, Mark," I ask. "Please." I beam at him and he grins down at me. Winking one beautiful eye at me, he gently squeezes my pinky finger. 

So I guess this is what bliss feels like. I thought I felt it whenever I had a mint Oreo milkshake, but boy, was I wrong. Bliss should feel like your insides are simultaneously on fire and yet weightless and joyfully fluttery. I feel like I'm in an amazing dream where I never want to wake up because I feel so perfect and content. I hope I never lose the memory of this moment.