Columbine

He pulls the wooden chair from the table. It quietly moans as its legs scrape the linoleum floor causing him to wince as he sits. He piles his large, black duster on the chair beside him, releasing a waft of breeze that smelled of leather and incense. Nervously, he looks across the table at the raven hair girl. When her lips break into a coy smile, he returns the gesture and graces her soft cheek with the backs of his fingertips.

"Been waiting long?" he asks.

She smiles at his trite words and thinks for a moment of saying, "I've been waiting 17 years." She decides against this simply because she cannot manage to get those words out; her throat constricts at the mere thought. She wasn't sure if that was true or such sentiments would go over well. At times, he seemed like a trapped animal. Then, he would seem perfectly content, caged or no. Instead, she chirps that she only just got to the diner. This isn't true. She had been waiting at least half an hour, but she wanted to be early to miss nothing not even anticipation. She didn't wish to burden him with this knowledge. "Soon" was relative, so she wasn't really lying. She knew already that she could never lie to Luke. He seems so accepting, as though she could pour her entire life in his ear and he wouldn't miss a drop. She, however, did not feel she had much of a life to pour. Not compared to him, at least. He was in college; he had done so much, seen so much.

He looks very self-consciously at her, wondering if this constitutes a first date and if it does, how he should behave. He wishes he could tell her that he was never good on first dates, but he is not exactly sure if this is a date and knows he is probably very good at first dates, not that he wants to give this topic much research. Granted, he has only had one first date since high school and that resulted in the two-year relationship he had gotten out of recently, so he hasn't had much of a chance. Maybe "gotten out of" was inappropriate phrasing. Was dismissed from. But he remembered being rather good at that date and couldn't readily recall any other first date that should at all count.

This borderline relationship with Eileen is new and exciting to him. It is also, without a doubt, one of the scariest ideas he had encountered in a long time. He cannot wholly shake the love he has for Kate. As he confessed these feelings to Eileen over the prior month, he grew to be very attracted to Eileen's words and mind. She is surprisingly deep for her age. For any age, actually. He was annoyed with himself every time he mentioned that she was a bit younger than his score of years. He doesn't care about her age. It is society's problem, not his. He bites his lip, wondering silently to himself if he should even be planning these arguments yet. This certainly wasn't in his hands. He has to win Eileen and convince her of how she touches him. Of how he feels he could delight in touching her. Of how he grows lighter when he speaks of her, as though filled with hydrogen. Of how she was winning his heart with every breath she took. But he knew better than to come on quite so strong. She is not so charmed by him that he couldn't blow this all with a careless word.

The tawny waitress came by and asks for drink orders. Eileen orders a diet cherry cola. For some reason, he finds this deeply significant and becomes achingly aware of her lips forming the words, her bubblegum tongue against her teeth as she pronounces "la." When the waitress looks toward him, she sees that his eyes have remained locked on the girl across from him. The waitress does not have time for silly romantics and clears her throat violently, knocking him free. He looks up and, embarrassed with his transparency, coughs out that words, "The same."

When the waitress leaves, slightly disgruntled, he puts his hand lightly upon Eileen's. She looks down at his ashen pink fingers on her own. She feels an electric blue charge from his fingers as they trace her own, though they look for a moment like inhuman appendages. The very idea of fingers connected to hands connected to wrists and arms and shoulders and torsos and... The electricity reaches her face and she sharply gasps. She didn't know boys could do that. Especially to her. He lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it. He really has a hundred and two things to say to her, but these small affections overtake his mind. He cannot bear to say anything insignificant to her. If he is going to have a fresh start - is this a fresh start? - it is going to be nothing less than beauty and poetry. Aesthetically Epicurean jumps to his mind, though he is sure that is not the intended coupling of the words.

Likely if he were to voice this longing to her, she would echo. But he is afraid of changing the distance between them. He cannot bear to hurt her. Not just as a general respect for her gender, but that he is truly and honestly taken with her. It isn't that she has been the first. Even after Kate sent him away with his tail between his legs, she sought after that selfsame leg dwelling tail in her weaker moments.

Eileen catches his gaze and locks on with an intensity she had read about in Pablo Neruda's sonnets. There is so much in his eyes, so much for her alone. So much pain and confusion too, but the vulnerability is sexy to her. She could swallow him whole and have not dented her appetite. In fact, she may if she gets half a chance. But even sitting so near to her, touching her, making a white flame grow within the secret crevices of her mind and body, he is far away. Not just sporadic recollected pain from his ex-girlfriend, but he seems like an exotic creature. The way he dresses and acts would more befit a character in a movie than those in her social scene. "Do you think we are too different, Luke?"

He cranes his head back and breaks physical contact with her, startled. "What? No, I don't at all think that. We are very similar when you think about it. The same things matter to us. And that is all that matters to me. That is why I care about you. I was wooed by your words, not your clothes. And do pardon my saying so, but I am terribly interested in all that goes on beneath your clothes. Metaphorically speaking."

Her cheeks blush like a ripening peach upon hearing these words. Surprisingly innocent for words so potentially charged. She purrs sweetly, "You kill me, you know. You say these things that create the most sublime happiness within me. But I worry that it will never come to fruition." She gazes into his liquid eyes and his internal conflict is palpable. His struggle is endearing, if uncomfortable to watch. He is trying so hard for her. Not wholly for her, for himself too. For a moment to make things real, rather than covered in a faint mist that distorts everything and clings to ones ankles and fingers.

"I wish I could have clarity for you, instead of confusion. I was confused before I started to care about you; these new feelings just make everything all the more pressing. I know what I can have if I can get my head and heart together." He lifts her hand to his lips for a grazing kiss by way of example. Over the hills of her fingers, he gives her a piercing glance and looks down. "I don't want to hurt you, which would be like a hatpin in my heart. I can't prove to you how I feel for you, except with big words and small gestures. I would never want to lose you as a friend... as more than a friend. You mean more to me every day..." He envelops her hands in his, warming the flesh in that indescribable way only lovers and fools know well. Every breath she takes is statically charged velvet, caressing her throat and lungs. Requiring ever-larger doses of air not to swoon. She would melt if he would lean across the table and place his androgynous lips on hers. But it appeared she would have to wait to become a puddle at his feet. She can see how much he wants her, but he is restraining himself. She understands why he does and hates him just a little bit for caring so much.

He doesn't want to abridge his affections; he wanted to let her tongue dance a tarantella within his mouth to a gasped song. But the last girl, aside from Kate, that he tried to kiss caused him to be sick on the lawn outside her dorm. She was not the one; he could not ever see fit to love her. He couldn't bear causing Eileen to suffer such indignity. Even more tragic, perhaps he could kiss her and it would be astonishing. Everything else with her was, he couldn't help believing-hoping--kissing would be. The kiss would catalyze his blood and he would grow so fond that he wouldn't be able to bear to be separate from her. Could he do that again?

She smiles widely at him in spite of herself. She is about to reveal her heart, but the waitress sets their drinks down. "Ready to order?" she croaks.

Luke looks over at Eileen and she nods gently. She had studied the menu before he arrived, nearly memorizing the entrees. She had given each one careful consideration. She certainly didn't want to order anything messy, for fear that it would stain her clothing. Definitely nothing with garlic or onions, as she had remained in a constant state of readiness to be kissed by him since they had set a date. Nothing that she would have to eat with her hands, save French fries. Nothing too expensive either, because she didn't have much money on her and would be chagrined if he offered to pay. Finally she had settled on the chicken club and French fries.

Luke thinks about her order for a moment and asks for fried calamari. He quickly looks at Eileen and is relieved to see that she doesn't wince at his order. He ate fried calamari because it made him feel vaguely worldly, though he had never had it except in local restaurants. He quickly learned that many regarded this dish as revolting without having ever tried it. It spoke well of her that she did not protrude her tongue from her mouth in disgust.

Taking a long sip of her coke, Eileen searches for something to say to him. He has just ordered squid, which normally seemed unpleasant to her. She had never actually met anyone who ate it and remembered faintly that they are supposed to have the rough intellect of dogs. The squid, not those who eat them. Well, whichever little tentacled cephalopods had died to afford Luke a meal should consider themselves lucky posthumously. At this stage, it seemed they would be reaching his mouth long before she did.

She had hoped that the soda would subdue the burning. It simply made her slightly less thirsty. The bubbles tickled her nose, causing her to wriggle it like a cartoon bunny. This, Luke quickly became aware, weakens his resolve not to kiss her just yet. Touching her cheek he sighs, "This is not working."

It felt to Eileen as though her brain had liquefied and now sought to escape through her eyes. She thought all of this was working wonderfully. He was touching her and he was sweet and caring and sensitive and unlike the boys she knew. And he said it wasn't working. She felt thousands of inscrutable fissures appear in her heart. As her eyes began to tear, her eyes connected full force with his.

The rain about to fall from her eyes confused and dismayed him. A sudden comprehension overtakes him and he babbles out, "No, Leeny, you misunderstand. The talking in the greasy spoon, three and a half very large feet from one another is not working. Everything else is... indescribably great. I can't know you how I want to here." He wipes her eyes dry with his sleeves. Overwhelmed by having both hands on her face, he leans in and gently kisses her brow.

Smiling once more, though his words have a definite intimate edge, she coos, "Where is it that you could know me... how you want to?"

Glancing skyward appraisingly, he sighs again. With a dramatic flourish, he offers her his hand. "Do you trust me?"

"Totally."

"Then come with me."

Objectively, she is aware that going with an older boy some unknown destination at his insistence is was very silly girls do a few days before they turn up in pieces in a dog food factory. Subjectively, this was Luke asking her. Luke who had eyes that were green-blue-gray with flecks of hazel. Luke with hair that smells of spring. Luke. She honestly did trust him implicitly and completely, even after not really talking to him face to face in three years. The last time he could touch her, she was fourteen and picking up toys in the children's museum. The world was a different flavor now, it had more cinnamon. How could she not trust a boy who loved children as Luke did? So, she was throwing caution to the wind and possibly letting herself be swept off her feet. Her shoes were not comfortable anyway, it would be very nice to be swept off of them. Suddenly, reality intruded upon her. "But... what about our food?"

This statement throws him off for a moment, but no longer than a moment. "We will simply ask the very nice waitress to make it to go."

As though answering her cue in this private play, the waitress walks toward the table with their plates. Luke smiles ingratiatingly at her and she groans, "What?"

"Could you please, Miss Waitress, whose hair is as golden as fields of wheat and who brings us the riches of the sea and land, please give us two take out boxes?" It is obvious to Eileen that he is being intentionally dramatically adorable. The waitress may not agree.

The waitress tries to be frustrated with him, but Luke can tell that he has won her over. Nonetheless, she adopts the hard exterior with is standard issue with the stained apron and grumbles, "You just ordered it. Why did you order it at your table if you were just going to leave?"

Eileen assumes a part in the play, much to his enjoyment, explaining, "We just figured it out ourselves. I mean... he got paged and has to take me home. My parents might get upset otherwise. Ma'am. Miss." The waitress can tells this is a lie, figuring that this couple is going to wander off somewhere more secluded to do something with which the girl's parents would have every right to be upset.

The waitress sighs audibly and whines, "Fine, I'll go get you the Styrofoam boxes." Before she stomps off, Luke grabs the corner of her greasy apron. When she focuses her laser eyes at him, he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill, grins madly, and hands it to her. She takes hold of it, experimentally, as though Luke may pull it away. When he lets go, she gives him a wry grin and walks away wish the monosyllabic admonition of "Kids."

Two Styrofoam boxes later, they are in Luke's car. Eileen sits passively in the passengers seat. On her lap rests the food, of which she is too scared to partake. She still does not know where he is going and secretly believes he will be just as surprised at the destination when the car stops. Perhaps the car knows Luke better than her where it is he would take a young prospect. The oily diner food smells foreign outside of its Formica context and causes the butterflies in her stomach to try to escape for a moment.

"We're here."

"Here" was the locked front gate of a local park. He takes the food from her and exits the car. She unfastens her seatbelt and calls out to him.

"The park is closed."

"Yes. I know that. All the better."

She can't actually argue with this reasoning, though she has trouble placing if this was a reason. "Your car though?"

"It will be perfectly safe. It has yet to disappear under cover of night. I don't see why it should start now." He is not nearly as confident as this statement suggests and hopes that the fog enveloping them hides the quaver in his voice. Tonight is to be amazing and every shocking gesture that implied he was daring and clever was worth the potential walk back to civilization should his car be towed.

He leads her past the gate and she watches the car melt into the fog. They walk for several minutes, long enough that she loses equilibrium and realizes that she will be dependant on him to right her. She regrets that her afterthought is that no one knows where she is. It doesn't matter, she thinks, and she is old enough to take care of herself if it does matter.

A rock catches her foot, which is not clad in shoes befitting one who is going to be tramping about a foggy park after closing. She stumbled into him, though not quite into him as romance novels suggest. Not that she reads romance novels anymore. Still, he catches her before she can become more acquainted with the earth beneath her. As his arm lifts her, she sees that it was at the expense of his squid.

"I'm so sorry!"

"Not to worry, I guess the squids just wanted to be free." He looks at his lost meal and can almost imagine the tentacles springing to life and slithering away. He nudges one with the toe of his boot. Eileen cocks her head to the side by means of questioning this action. "Run, my little friend, run and be free." She is charmed enough by his impetuous act of absurdism that she doesn't ask if he is referring to the tan ring of seafood or her.

They stop at a small gazebo. Luke decides that this must have always been the destination, unbeknownst to him, for it seems to repel the fog. The air is no less damp and he notes with amusement that Eileen's hair is home to thousands of droplets of dew like cubic zirconium in the moonlight. He wants to tell her this and that she is the most beautiful he has ever seen. He wants to tell her that this is perfect. Instead he asks for a French fry.

She opens the box by way of answer and the foam clamshell emits a squeak of shock. She giggles girlishly despite herself and suddenly feels very immature to have found this quite so funny, but the image of a vocal mollusk is still too strange to stop the laughter. He does not fault her this, rather adores this tiny act and attributes her shy look to his presence.

Sitting on a damp bench, Luke's doffed duster absorbing the brunt of the seeking moisture, he turns to her. Until his mouth opens, he doesn't know what will trickle from it. "Is this how you expected the night to be?" He curses the inanity of this question. Of course she didn't expect this. No one would expect this on a first date. If this was a date.

"Yes."

Her answer is simple and she feels no need to explain further. She spreads his duster wide under her and she rests her head on his lap. She knows how bold a move this is when one has yet to claim the prize of a kiss, but she was in a mood for bold gestures. Rather, she was in a mood to commit boldness upon him, if only to provoke reaction. Had he done something this forward she... might have melted. Or maybe froze. There would be a change in physical state to be sure.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, if only to take stock of the night up until this point. She has set chemicals flowing in his blood he had forgotten he had. His mind gave him a refresher course in high school biology, invoking the name of serotonin and adrenaline. He bites his lip to stem the lesson and ground some part of his body in pain. For months he had not felt quite right if he was not in some form of pain. To exist otherwise was still too alien.

He strokes her hair reverently, pleased by the sensation of it turning to liquid beneath his hand. He doesn't know what comes next and he finally doesn't care. There is no Kate. Eileen no longer has parents who would disapprove. He was no longer in college and she in high school. All that was and should be for him was her head in his lap.

She looks up at him and sees the first completely honesty smile cross his lips. The butterflies abandon their day jobs and catch fire. She awaits the feel of his lips as he leans down to her and closes her eyes to prolong the expectation of the inevitable.

She opens her eyes again and notes with consternation that he has still yet to kiss her. She catches his sideways eyes and he speaks softly. "I love you."

That was all she needed to hear and she sits quickly upright. "Repeat that?"

Self-consciousness exudes from his pores. "I said... that I love you."

And its over. He looks at her and knows. She doesn't love him. Maybe he doesn't really love her either, but it is too late to mince words. The words mix with the water in the air and set the scene in concrete. She opens her mouth to speak, to explain all of this. To work damage control. "Luke... Luke... I…"

"Shh... I know. Please let's stop now."

She kisses him, but the kiss is one of defeat and remorse. A thank you and they lose one another to the fog.