RICHARD SLAZENGER

CHAPTER 8

The vision of the Orange Bridge having its statue's glisten sweep from the gentle grassy sloppy banks of Dottlem to an almost mirror image of that of Benorch peaked the anticipation. The guggling of the then becoming of orange waters of the South tributary insisted as dusk was fast approaching. Needless to say, the nearby automated street lights were just working right. A fair proportion of provision of orange during nightfall. An ideal plot to make some warm, orange memories. I pivoted myself somewhere in the middle region of its metallic body, some fifteen minutes might have passed, a little under ten people might have crossed. My indulgence in fantasies of necessity explained my prevalent alliance with passiveness.

But my instincts knew exactly when to weaken this passiveness; at the time when a familiar dress revealed itself to the generosity of a distant streetlight. Kelly, the bridge guitarist, had just gulped half a bottle of water and was just starting to play another tune. I wouldn't ask for a better entrance of this scene. That version of perfection was undebatable. The gentleness of her walk, her distant gaze careful not to sell any emotion away, the quivering of her attire on that body, infused with the melody...insistently glorious. Charming.

And as the gapping of our bodies shrinks, the more we find it harder to conceal our emotions. Quite fair it wasn't just me. Her face brightens at the passing of the last streetlight heading to the foot of the bridge, I'd rather leave the effect of this picture to your imagination. It turns out this one proved hard to describe.

Sacci kicks towards my expectant self, shoving through the notes of Kelly's guitar, seamlessly. She reaches out for a hug, and then willingly leans on that metallic rail, clearly eager for the subsequent event to kick start. She peers across to Kelly and gives him a deserved smile as I work to design the build up to the event of interest. It turns out, despite that much time I had for myself, seems it wasn't enough for me to visualize a proper commencement of that conversation. But predictably as always, she helps, an initiator. She perhaps usually just had issues with patience.

"So, why...are we here?" She begins, her lips pressed.

"Well for firsts, you look nice," I confess, buying time as a side agendum, and notice she's flattered, " Been thinking..."

"Of..." She fills in as my search for more relevant words for this cause takes a logically lengthened duration.

"Us..." I am honestly surprised that one word could feel that much sufficient.

"Oookay, what about us?" She determinedly enquires as she chuckles in a somewhat amazed tone.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" I spill, very expectant of a positive response.

"I am sorry, what?" She replies casually with a hint of surprise.

"I thought, I uhm...we," I stammer ridiculously.

"Weee, sorry, why the sudden skip? You haven't looked likely," She demands, half serious.

"Well as I initially noted to you...I've been thinking," I confidently reply trying very hard not to make her suspicious.

"Smooth...hopefully you weren't thinking wrong," She seems to warn.

"Uhm...so...?" I am not even sure what emotion I should be having then.

"So, so, so," She goes on mimicking me in what I presume should make me feel silly.

She then walks on towards Kelly, insensitive of the dilemma she's left me with. They converse for some ten seconds at most, a conversation that doesn't hint my involvement. What was she doing? The mood they manage to maintain feels distressingly friendly. She then drops, what I believe to be a fiver, into his petri dish and he initiates a fist bump in conclusion of their short term encounter.

She carries her yet to be promising expression towards me, gently grabs my arm and asks that I walk her home. She notices my intensive bewilderment and assures everything will be okay. She purposefully squeezes in a titter to help with the mood. I honestly didn't like the odds, they obviously didn't seem prospective. If anything, this was the time to actually prepare that speech, the one Dillan would find adequate. The sad ending that for a while there I was sure I wouldn't have to confront, the perks of overconfidence perhaps.

The walk to her home was dominated by a somewhat unavoidable silence. If we were to talk about anything else the situation would be weirder, if we were to talk about that one thing it would equally be that much weird. She chipped once in a while though, to check if I felt comfortable. A response I felt I shouldn't dare express negativity. The overwhelming weight of being a pleaser, crushing my emotional wellbeing. What was I going to tell Markin? Believe it or not, I was actually more worried about him than me. It did really feel that this was more about him, proving his theory. How realization strikes him of his failure has never looked conducive. And I couldn't be more worried of how this would affect him.

Naturally I was inclined to say a silent prayer, but frankly I was doubtful of its effectiveness. I went on to do it nevertheless. Her discernment, one that I've once condemned, was itching. Itching for me to give another go at trying to fix it.
She seems rather unbothered. She was obviously masking her emotions, which was impressive to be fair. But by the virtue that she hadn't mentioned anything concerning my proposal during our walk got me debating that my mind was too clouded to approve of such impressiveness. A rather unnecessary debate because it felt kind of obvious. If she was for it, she wouldn't have hesitated to say yes. The expected ecstasy wouldn't have allowed that desire to abate. She was probably already trying to lessen the hurt, or trying to come up with a better way of lessening it.

It's a shame, the type of conversation that I envisioned we would have after that proposal turned good was reduced to a stale small talk geared to wave away that unwelcomed awkwardness. We make it to her place and I feel I should call it a night, but she insists I come in. Your guy unwillingly cooperates. You should have seen my face. It's funny I'm comfortable sharing the image of my hurt self this loud. But anyways, what do I have to lose, when it actually turns out the door is opened to a jubilant Miss Elandri. Yes, the adjective is jubilant. I thought of using the word joyful but I feel that's usually overused and I am, trust me, very intentionally trying to make this circumstance not sound in anyway like some cliché. This was super special. And honestly, it was also kind of weird.

Sacci must have mentioned something about us to her mom or specifically what she forecasted about that particular evening. And her ever nice mom unfailingly generously decides to plan for us a small congratulatory party judging from the decorated space we were welcomed to. The rich, or let me reduce my amount of stereotyping glee, these type of parents. Who celebrates having a child being proposed to in high school? This felt unnecessary, obviously, you can tell.

Anyways, I want to try to savour this moment but the wondering about the possibility that this was also done for Dillan thaws that intention. Her mom gives me a rush hug which oddly felt like just a mere fulfillment of a formality. Sacci's hug looks more intentional. Jealousy gnaws. The embrace was tight and definitely warm. I didn't want to read so much into things, but the glaring awkwardness was a little more untamable. My eyes dart all over in an attempt to find some refuge. The awkwardness takes a step farther up the ladder when she directs us to a lovely set table. Sacci is elated, I am deflated. The dinner is themed by an overwhelming joy which I find hard to subscribe to but luckily I manage to fake it conveniently.

"That's one weird way of saying yes" I direct her to a necessary point of view.

"Thought you would love it," She self-advocates.

"Could you maybe next time normalize doing this in talking, could save on a great deal of emotions," I suggest, dead serious.

"Baaaabe" She rumbles sarcastically.

"That sounded odd and definitely new," I can't stop myself from laughing, "but I guess, we still got time to get used to it"

"Yeah," She agrees, her lips pressed in that unique way of hers.

"Uhm, so...I'll stride then," my voice should have sounded unwilling, "Goodnight,"

"Goodnight," She responds just after giving me that anticipated peck on the cheek.