His heart was in question. Not for the first time either. It was the last dance of the night and all courage he once thought he had was naught. There she was, standing there in a starlight gown, shimmering with the flashing lights as if she herself was the center of the room — and most certainly the center of the young man’s current distress. He arrived with her to the dance, them being thrown together by sheer luck and a bit of friendly mischevy. Yet even through the photos and awkward blushes he remains frozen now. Who is she looking at? He wonders. It should have been of no surprise to his rigid, shaking self when she turned away from the room itself. She was not only the aesthetic, she herself was the infinity, a question no one could understand except with more questions. This space girl, tethered by no one. Before he could react, he realized that it was over, that her leaving was not her ditching him, or anyone else, but her ditching the dance. He had to ask. He ran as swiftly as slick socks and crowded bodies would let him. So narrow minded he was that he forgot he was supposed to take her home. What a fool. He still had time. Calming down, he acted proper for a change and collected himself and his things, making sure to give all the right nods and quick smiles to departing friends and peers. He wanted to take her hand, but he decided opening the car door was more paced. She of course did not give notice to his nervous chattering, half in wonder at her own thoughts and partly exhausted from the long night. They were driving now, up familiar streets and sceneries that looked otherworldly at such a late hour. It was still quite a while till her house. Should he ask her now? No. A rejection now would be much too awkward. In her driveway then? That would be ideal, rejection or acceptance be damned; it gave him time afterwards to process or react without an awful amount of recoil. But no. He forgot to fill up his car in all the rush. What a fool. He made conversation, to himself or with her he’s not sure, apologizing for the detour. It would only take a minute. He pulled in, nearly jumping out the car as he jumbled into the AM PM, placing down crinkled cash for the clerk to sort out. Should he get her something here? That would be perfect; unconventional, but perfect. He settled on grabbing her favorite sweet — a small bag of orange slices. When he came back, she was standing outside, still gorgeous in that 70
The Citrus Kiss of Astronomy | Jacobus Marthinus Barnard
