Saving Grace

Helen's Worst Nightmare

He watched the clock anxiously, each slithering second draining another piece of patience away. His knee jumped furiously and his hands rubbed over each other, about an inch away from his lips. Max couldn't remember the last time he felt that anxious. Well he could, but it was a rather traumatic experience that he would rather not re-live.

When he'd offered to take Helen out to dinner, he'd half expected her to politely turn him down. To his surprise, after a breath or two for thought, she agreed. In her eyes he could read the sincerity of a person willing to offer him a second chance. Either that or the panic attack had him hallucinating and she simply pitied the disastrous piece of psychological work that sat breathlessly beside her.

Max dragged his calloused palms over his face, the skin sagging under the pressure. He was frustrated because he couldn't understand his nervousness. He'd told himself throughout the day that it was merely an opportunity for him to right a miscommunication. To fix the distorted image she has of his character based off of a mere mistake and though the explanation was reasonable enough, it didn't quite fit the emotion. It was too trivial a reason for the level of anxiety he was wrestling through.

5 minutes...

We're gonna have to work together, it's only normal that I want to make a good impression.

4 minutes...

I'm her boss. I need her to respect me and trust me or else how do I expect her to follow my orders?

3 minutes...

She hates me. How can I not be nervous? I wouldn't trust me if I were in her shoes. Not after what happened.

2 minutes...

I want her to like me. I need her to like me. Wait, what? Why?

1 minute...

She's....

The clock finally inched into place, announcing that it was time to go home. If he hurried he could make it home to freshen up and still be able to make it to the restaurant on time.

Maybe I should pick her up.

He thought as he got what few possessions he needed to take back home with him (cell phone, keys, jacket, the like) and rushed into the hallway.

Problem: you don't really know her address. Also, what if she doesn't like surprises, you'd just be digging an even deeper grave.

The idea died out as quickly as it was born and as Max stepped out into the bustling city streets he thanked whatever angel was protecting him for having kept all manner of late night work away. It's a long walk from his office to the main entrance and the number of people that could have stopped him to ask for his signature on a special drug order or for his advice on transferring a patient, is astronomical.

The night air was warm, with that little bit of breeze that seemed to flirt with every person it passed. His nervousness made him numb to certain details of the passing view, like his neighbours from two floors down, walking their pair of Jack Russel puppies, or his favourite street musician strumming the chords to "Soul Sister", his voice echoing just above the passing conversation of the crowd.

Normally, Max would stop to give the man some much deserved attention, blending into the gathered audience of 6 or 7 and sometimes even leaving a five dollar bill or two. But not on that day. On that day his ability to multitask had been drowned out by his anxiety. He suddenly developed a one track mind and his focus was solely consumed by plans to win Helen over to his side.

Somewhere else in the city, Helen painted her toe nails. The polish was a beautiful emerald green to match her silk blouse. She'd kept a close eye on the time and had already bathed, all that was left was for her to get dressed and do her makeup.