That’s when it really started, I guess, the story I’m supposed to tell. Bolstered by my beer and the catcalls of a creepy man or three on the walk through the rain, I got to talking with a boy with beautiful eyes.
Except I didn’t notice the beautiful eyes at first because he was an unknowing victim of a necessary rant. And when ranting and beer and I join forces we become like a dropped ball of yarn… just keep going until we hit a wall.
He nodded along and let us roll through unnecessary detail after unnecessary detail (beer likes to unveil unnecessary details), and I glared across the room and let my fingers curl and my eyes twitch, and then just before we got dizzy he threw a wall up. So beer and I took a moment to collect our thoughts and let rant go off on its not-so-merry way. That’s when I noticed the eyes. And the smile.
The ranting turned into blushing, the finger-curling into nose-scrunching, the eye-twitching to lip-biting in valiant, if failing, efforts to cover the smile eager to appear on my face.
The rest of the story has the more interesting details, I suppose, but sometimes being so careful with my words means that none of them seem appropriate. The words will form at an inconvenient time (like in the middle of a complicated coffee order or an important detail about an upcoming assignment), so they’ll get scribbled on the back of my hand or scrap paper and give you an ending more satisfactory than this. But to save you the wait, I’ll tell you as much as I know: the story’s not over yet.