Don't Forget and Please Don't Regret

Just A Date

Am I one to go walking off with strangers at random?

No. In fact, if someone I don't recognize so much as says hi, I get nervous and there's no telling why.

Still, there I was walking down the street with a boy I'd only ever seen on pieces of paper and through screens displaying social networking sites. We turned a corner, heading into a shady park. Wind was blowing through the trees, leaving the leaves rustling like... well, like trees.

"So do you have a favorite color?" he asked.

I raised an eyebrow in curiosity and said, "lime green. Yours?"

He exhaled through tight lips. "Oh, gee, I don't know. That's a loaded question," he said, taking a huge bite of his meatball sub.

I laughed. "It is?"

He nodded. "Of course it is. Don't our likes define us? Like, say for example your favorite color is black; people will automatically judge you, they'll assume that your emo or whatever. And when you're told over and over again that you're something you're not you end up believing it. So in the long wrong, assuming something about a person due to their favorite color is usually right."

I said nothing, only raised my eyebrows. I didn't really believe him. You are only who you choose to be... that's what I always thought.

"What?" he asked after a few seconds of silence. He took in my blank stare and smiled. "That did sound a little negative, didn't it? I'm sorry, Tally."

I shrugged and looked away like I didn't really care that he just made up a nickname for me or that he just apologized in that adorable Irish accent that gave me so many sweet feelings...

"Well," I said. "I won't judge you on your favorite color, Niall. I can promise you that much."

He looked ahead and drank some soda through a green striped straw. "Purple."

He led me to a bench, somewhere no one else was really walking around, and we sat side by side. I couldn't get enough of that sweet peppermint fragrance coming from his body.

"So," I began. "I think it's my turn to ask some questions."

"Shoot."

"What's it like being... you know... famous?"

He moved his head from side to side. "You know when you're at school and everyone knows your name and you walk down the hallway and about five people say hi to you? It's like that... except when you walk down streets you've never even seen before about ten people scream at you and sometimes tackle you."

"Oh," I said, making a pained expression. "That sounds rough."