1. Third Person
They stood in the dim orange light next to her red Chevy Cobalt and embraced. Sean looked down over her shoulder and stared down amused with the two, black rimmed, spare tires that had replaced her two left wheels, knowing well there was a third on the other side as well. It was almost eleven and they each had a 45-minute drive home in opposite directions.
They broke from the hug slowly, as if trying to prolong the window of opportunity for a kiss. Alex wanted a kiss, and tried to engage eye contact as they parted. Sean was still looking at the wheels until they disappeared behind her as he straightened up. He looked at her with a rather neutral expression. The hug began with smiles, though his faded quickly once hidden from view. Alex’s remained. There was a moment when his eyes caught her persistent, desperate glare and she said, “You okay to drive?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he responded casually in a slightly hurried manner. His hands were now in his pockets. He was beginning to rock forward and back impatiently.
Alex’s smile was reduced to barely more than pursed lips and she gave a single nod “’Kay. Well, thanks again,” she said raising her right hand that was anchored at the elbow by her purse to wave “bye”. She resigned her hope and turned towards her car.
“Of course,” Sean replied, already stepping backwards and raising his hand. “Take care.” Alex didn’t want to respond, frustrated and annoyed with Sean’s inadequate chivalry. Though, a kiss had never been his intention.
The second Alex’s head had turned completely, Sean quickly turned around and walked down the row of cars with strides just slightly larger and more enthusiastic than normal. He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled as he reached for the phone in his pocket. He slid his thumb across the screen to unlock it and saw three messages from +1 (310) 555-1702. He had deleted the contact almost two months ago, but hadn’t blocked it. He tapped the text conversation to open it and slowed his walk to read it.
2. First Person
Even this felt like too much. I tried to keep my distance. The hug was all shoulders and arms. Pressing our torsos closer together would have sent the wrong message—that I was actually interested. I was trying to be a good date, or at least give that impression. I looked down at her tiny black-rimmed wheels. Alex’s car was rather small, but the wheels made it resemble a circus elephant riding a tricycle.
She’d told me not too look at them. “I have three,” she had said earlier, “There’s another on the other side,” I withheld my comments about them. She probably thought it was good small talk, and in most cases it probably was, but I was in no rush to prolong our goodbyes.
After counting a few beats, I withdrew from the hug. It was probably too soon. Her grip relaxed just late enough to let me know that I’d caught her off guard. The sincerity of my courtesies had been gradually waning throughout the night and at this point I was just going through the motions trying to hit all the formalities. Hug—check.
I caught her eyes looking at me as we straightened up. In all honesty I’d felt her looking at me sooner but was reluctant to oblige her with eye contact. I knew she wanted a kiss. After all, we had no trouble swapping whiskey-flavored saliva two weeks prior on New Years Eve. But circumstances were different then. I was newly single, and my “It’s 12:30 and I still haven’t had a New Years kiss,” line hadn’t been brought down from the rafters and dusted off in almost four years—though it’s potency was sharp as ever.
She was still smiling at me and said, “You okay to drive?”
The prospect of getting in my car and leaving sparked my excitement and relief. This whole charade was almost over. “Yeah yeah, I’m good,” I quickly and eagerly replied. My hands were in my pockets now; their work was done for the night.
She closed her smile a bit and nodded once—conceding defeat. “’Kay. Well, thanks again,” she said raising her hand as an abbreviated wave.
Her wave felt like the final bell releasing students for the summer. I withdrew my hand from its holster and returned a wave. “Of course,” I said, my excitement probably feigning sincerity. “Take care,” I concluded. A mental countdown started in my head as she began to turn towards her car. 3…2…1…
The moment I was out of her peripheral view, I spun around and headed back across the parking lot towards my car. I exhaled and let the relief wash over me. Then I reached for the phone in my pocket. I knew with certainty that there would be messages waiting—messages that shouldn’t be opened in front of my “date”. I looked at the screen and saw three new text messages from a phone number rather than a contact. I knew who it was. I had always known. When I had removed her from my contact list two months ago my intentions were to have no way of contacting her since I rarely remembered phone numbers. This number had been in my phone for almost four years and I’d never once memorized past the area code. It was always masked by the name “Ash”.
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