“You’re not like other guys

“I hope not. Most of these guys wouldn’t fit into my clothes.”

“You’re so — when you walk into a room, you can feel it.”

“This is your way of suggesting I need to lose a couple pounds…right?”

Her eyes were glassy. Strands of her hair that escaped her pony tail band fell across her face and she made no attempt to brush them aside. All around us people danced to music pumped out at a thousand watts per channel and I managed to hear her anyway. It’s genetic. She became more pretty to me the closer she got.

There are awkward pauses that occur between people who are supposed to cross the space between themselves and kiss. No one sets this up. The universe rotates, inertial frames intersect, the axis go from linear to logarithmic, and your body does what it’s supposed to do unless you’re breaking it down and graphing the components in a cylindrical coordinate space. No one is supposed to ask for a kiss except in the movies. The real ones happen when it seems something invisible presses you together and you’re kissing instead of making small talk.

It had been a while since I’d felt anything like that, so it was easy for me to stand still and analyze myself rather than succumb to the build up of gravity that made her close her eyes and drift toward me with her face turned upward. When we were chest to chest and I wasn’t kissing she opened her eyes.

“You are so not like anyone else.”

—iceowl