Authors: Jarod Davis
“Where you going?” Isis shouted after him. After this fight he should have been broken, but he wanted to be somewhere else. He had to be somewhere else, so Timothy ran as hard as he could until he saw his car, aimed for it, jumped in, jammed the engine to life, and then he sped back to The Verge.
Timothy sprinted up the stairs to his apartment, slammed the door open and closed, flicked the light and threw off his clothes to jump in the shower. Forty-seven seconds later, he smelled like Spring Sunshine, toweled off, and got into some clean clothes. In his black jeans, and blue shirt, he almost looked presentable. Then again, he felt like a waiter, so he didn’t know how well this outfit worked. A glance at the clock and he had fifteen seconds.
He wouldn’t be late.
He knocked the door open, slammed it shut, and skipped down the steps, three at a time, only to run down the open air hallway to Jenny’s apartment. Timothy skidded to a stop, took a second to try to stop panting, and knocked.
A few seconds later the door opened. Jenny glowed as angelic as her soul. Anyone else and it probably wouldn’t have meant anything. A butterfly barrette pulled his attention to her hair, those stands of curled brown, warm like coffee or chocolate. Her lips glowed against the pale of her skin. Timothy didn’t know anything about makeup, but he guessed she used chap stick or lipstick, some product designed to entice and allure even as he couldn’t explain it. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Jenny should have been average. She should’ve been some moderately attractive girl guys would notice for a second before moving onto her really hot friend. But for Timothy, there weren’t any friends who could surpass Jenny.
“Hey,” she said with a curve of smile that made him think life couldn’t suck.
“Ready?” he asked, and she followed him back to his car. Hair and skin a little damp from his shower, the world was just cold enough to keep him energized, heart pounding because this was Valentine’s Day. And he was going to his car with Jenny Morgado. The words felt like an incantation, the best words to summon happy.
When their doors slammed shut, he asked, “What’s your pleasure?”
“Something simple. I don’t know, Mexican?”
“There’s a good place at Arden.” Simple, it was nice enough that there were servers, not so nice that it had to be a place for a date. Because that part wasn’t official yet. She nodded, and they were off and listening to music and talking about the songs. Timothy took the chance and teased her about the lyrics. That made the five minute drive feel like ten seconds. After parking outside the mall, he opened the door for her, and they headed inside, sat down, and ordered. The main corridor was filled with people. Some had bags. Most of the patrons clustered together like family or friends.
It felt way too easy. Nothing awkward, they traded stories and details while Timothy tried to memorize everything she said until Jenny asked, “What do you think of them?” Two kids, probably high schoolers, leaned together, across their round table. She was grinning, her cheeks dimpled, as the boy said something to her, trying to look serious and failing to keep his mouth from cracking into a grin mirrored on the girl’s face.
“They’re a couple. But they haven’t admitted it yet?” Timothy guessed.
“How long?”
“Ten years. They’ve been together since they were seven. And now that they’re old enough, they’re starting to figure out what it means to be a boy and girl.”
“I think they just met,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because they could appreciate it more. It’s new and exciting, a really big priority. Everything they can think about and discover is going to be each other. If they’ve always known each other, then they might take each other for granted.”
“But it would be great if they didn’t.”
“That would be nice.”
“They could be surprised, shocked there’s something new in their relationship. That would be pretty amazing. You could have this connection with someone you’ve known forever mixed with the excitement of realizing there’s so much more.”
Jenny tilted her head, “You’re not like a lot of guys.”
“Thanks?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s a good thing.” Timothy would have given up a couple paychecks if it meant he could know what her smile meant.
“What’s the longest relationship you’ve been in?”
“About three months.”
“And the longest crush?” Timothy asked, always curious about every part of her life.
Jenny shrugged, “A month?”
“Fall into it for six months, a year, and then see how much take people for granted.”
“But that’s not all that realistic,” she said. “Who’s in a crush for months at a time?”
Timothy swallowed, desperate to keep his mouth from saying something stupid, obvious, and absolutely true. Instead, he wanted to know, “So all relationships are doomed? There’s no point in hearts or romance? Every song is wrong and movies are just there to sell popcorn?”
“Maybe,” but she grinned back at him.
“That’s what I thought.” Nodding at another guy, Timothy asked, “How about him?” He sat between the cell phone alcove and the cookie shop, his pen sliding across a notepad.
“Student?” she guessed.
“I don’t know. How come he keeps looking up? And why study here?”
“Maybe he’s people watching.”
“That’d be rude,” Timothy said.
“Very,” Jenny agreed with paper-thick seriousness. “Why then? Why take notes?”
“An artist? He’s going to draw us eating Mexican food and talking about the other people here.”
“Or he’s a spy.”
“A spy?”
“Yeah, he’s taking notes on how to look like one of us. He’s a spy for an alien invasion, and he wants to learn how we act like people.”
“Couldn’t he be an explorer?”
“Sure,” Jenny said. “But he’d have to want something. No one explores without wanting something. Maybe our air or water or something. What’s his name?”
“Xleg.” A silly noise, it was easy. It was also easy to say because he was thinking about sitting there. A glance around and there were lots of couples. Then Timothy noticed a guy watching them, tracking from Timothy to Jenny. One second and Timothy swallowed, thinking it might’ve been a demon. But the guy looked away and went back to talking to the girl who sat across from him. When Timothy looked at him, trying to see some kind of demonic energy, there wasn’t anything but someone looking for a Valentine’s Day score.
“From?”
“Saturn?”
“I’m pretty sure Saturn is just gas, but sure, why not?” Jenny agreed with a sip of soda. “Oh, how about those two?” Hand still around the can, she motioned for the two people sitting in front of the ice-cream shop.
“That’s tough.”
“Friends?”
“He’s a bit young.”
“Cougar and someone else’s cub?”
“Okay,” Timothy laughed some more. “That’s not what I expected you to say.” The other guy had looked at him because he was with Jenny. This other guy wanted to analyze the competition. Timothy never really noticed competition before. A glance at Jenny and he knew he’d fight for her if that’s what it took. And that would’ve been simpler too because he sat with her and joked with her but that didn’t make this a date. They could end the night with a solemn handshake, and the next time he saw her she could be bubble with joy as she talked about her new boyfriend.
“I have many talents,” Jenny said with a bow.
“Like what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“You really aren’t what I’d expect.”
“I have many talents,” Jenny said again.
“Disturbed guesses among them.”
“What about him?”
“He looks like he’s planning for an eating competition?” Timothy guessed.
“That’s pretty gross.”
“Eating that much?”
“Eating that much always reminds me of the orphans who’re starving right now.”
“And you don’t think there’s a hell?” Timothy asked.
“Moments like this, and yeah, I have to reconsider my beliefs,” Jenny said. “What do you want to bet he’s beaten by a Japanese girl a tenth his size?”
“But he’s pretty thin,” Timothy said. Even from across the food court, Timothy could guess this would’ve been a tall, thin guy. For a second, Timothy was reminded of Morgon and the fight he just survived. That part of his life didn’t feel real, and he was glad. He wanted the true part, the actual part, to be right there with Jenny.
“Small people. They’re the ones you want to worry about.”
“You’re kind of small,” Timothy said.
“No I’m not.”
“You’re short and skinny. How’s that not small?” Timothy asked.
“Just because you’re a giant.”
“Of course, me and my five ten height, dominating the world. But you know,” Timothy said, “There could be something terribly wrong with him. And we’re here, laughing, and saying really mean stuff. Well, you’re saying mean stuff. I’m being a good person.”
“I didn’t say anything super bad. But he can’t hear us, not over this din.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“If it doesn’t hurt him, why not? And he’s wasting food which is wrong, especially if we’re right and it’s just for a competition.”
“How about them? What’s their story?” Timothy asked. Five girls, anywhere between eighteen and twenty-eight clustered near the lobby to the movie theatre.
“Protesters.” Timothy tilted, confused, so she told him, “They’re doing what I was going to do. They didn’t have a guy for Valentine’s Day so they get together and have fun even as everyone else’s supposed to be in love and happy. No rose or candy or guy to stand there and hold them and make them feel special.”
“Would you like to be in that group?”
“Nah, I’ve got a guy.”
“Who?”
“You. You’re mine now,” Jenny laughed, and he would’ve been fine with that answer, but she had to go and say, “No, I’m just kidding.” Timothy had to smile because that was the appropriate thing to do. “Or am I? Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“Just give it to me,” Jenny said, so he held out his hand, palm up. She turned his hand and took a pen. The first poke and he flinched, “Shush, don’t be a baby.”
“What are you writing?” he asked because he couldn’t see past her wrists. She shushed him again, telling him to be quiet. He didn’t pull away though, not until she was done. Etched in blue ink was
PO: Jenny Morgado
. “Thanks,” he said.
“Prove me wrong.”
So they debated whether or not writing on someone’s hand could be a binding contract. Their conversations moved across hours, a dance Timothy loved. They sat there and time disappeared, and they left when an electronic voice called the mall would close in five minutes. Shrugging and laughing because they still thought it couldn’t be past nine, they went back to his car, still talking. Timothy’s day stretched and kicked him around, but he couldn’t imagine being tired with Jenny so close.
Timothy pulled into his parking spot and got out, their doors echoing together. Still arguing about the best song ever, they headed up the steps. They passed two floors of college students. When it was time to say goodbye, Timothy did something old fashioned and scary. He walked her back to her door.
For a second, Timothy thought she looked nervous with her fingers wrapped around her wrist. “You’re at my door,” she said. “After we spent a couple hours hanging out.”
“I am.”
Nibbling her lips for a second, Jenny asked, “So…was this…? Was this a date?” Nervous and tense, that could’ve been Jenny with hope or Jenny afraid she’d have to cut off a heart. Because that was the really cruel part. She could say no, which might hurt her too. She’d have to be guilty, have to lose a friend. And it would be Timothy’s job to convince her he’d be fine with rejection.
Unless she wanted him to say yes, this was a date.
“I’d like to think so,” Timothy answered, proud of how he sounded calm, someone offering a theory in a classroom. She nodded, and he still didn’t know what she’d say. Like he could’ve taken her picture, stared at it for years, compared it to millions of other photos, taken it to experts, and Timothy still wouldn’t have been able to guess what she’d say.