Poesy

the first time

The very last minute to eight ticks by in slow motion. I stand directly in front of the clock, my backpack already on my back, wondering why Jude never showed. Apparently, my hints weren't as obvious as I'd hoped. Or maybe, I had the wrong impression and he hadn't, in fact, changed his mind. Either way, it's been a crap shift.

I wave goodbye to Candy, my coworker, and meet Annika outside. She's waiting in her car, singing at the top of her lungs to Ariana Grande. She's actually a really good singer, but I don't think she would ever try to make a serious career out of it.

"Hey bish," she says, turning down the radio as I climb in.

"Hey, I grumble.

She eyes me sympathetically. "What's wrong?"

"You know I hate this job," I sigh. I leave out the part of the impending doom that has been sitting on my chest for the past month since she told me she was leaving. She already knows how I feel about it.

The night she told me, she showed up at my house, soaking wet from the rain. Her face was nervous but her eyes were happy. She told me to sit down. Heart racing, my first fear was that she was pregnant. That would be the worst thing she could have to tell me, I thought. I was wrong, so wrong.

I didn't believe her at first. There's no way that she would leave me. We had a plan. We were going to get an apartment together, go to UNL together, get our hearts broken by hot frat boys together, then cry about it together. I couldn't live without her, yet here she was, creating a life fifteen hundred miles away from me.

She had it planned for a while before she found the nerve to tell me, with good reason. I didn't talk to her for like three days after that. Then I spent another two days making her feel guilty. And then another day begging her to stay. Then I thought, spending the last three months together was better than losing her now.

Yeah, maybe I am being childish. High school friends very rarely last forever, right? I just thought, Annika and Poesy, Poesy and Annika; well, we were different.

"You should just quit," she says for the hundredth time.

"I want to but," I pick at my fingernails, knowing that she won't understand. "Humphrey."

"What is it with you and that little kid. It's kinda weird. Don't you think?"

"That little kid is way cooler than, like, ninety percent of the people in Lincoln," I defend.

"Alright, whatever you say," she rolls her eyes.

We spend the rest of drive laughing about stuff that happened at school, discussing our new favorite music and listening to said music. This is how our friendship is. We don't understand each other at all but we do understand each other better than anyone else. When we say goodnight, it's like it always is, three bittersweet fingers in the air.

My dad bartends until close on Mondays, so I stop in the bar first to let him know that I got home safe. It's dead, except for Passed out Pete. He's the token old, unshaven, alcoholic, divorcé. He's more like a smelly roommate at this point. Dad asks me how my day was, I ignore him. I ask him for a shot of vodka, he ignores me. Finally, he orders me a pineapple pizza for dinner and I head upstairs to await its delicious arrival.

Nights alone are kind of the best, aren't they? There's something poetic about being able to completely and utterly be yourself, without anyone to make you feel self-conscious. You can sing a commercial jingle, do a cartwheel down the hallway and pick your wedgie, all in the same minute. Not that I do this... or do I? No one will ever know.

I'm in the shower for only about a minute when, through the downpour, I hear a faint knock on the door. Slightly surprised by the speediness of the pizza guy, I shut the water off, wrap a towel around my body and yell at them to hold their horses.

When I open the door, I look down the stairs and then to Jude who's standing on the other side.

"Where's my pizza?" I ask him.

"What?" His eyes rake down my barely covered body and then dart to the ceiling. "Oh, I'm sorry."

His cheeks tint themselves pink and I roll my eyes. His embarrassment delights me more than it should.

"Oh shut up and get inside," I say while yanking his arm through the door. "If the pizza guy comes, get it. It's already paid for. I'm going to finish my shower. I'll be out in a minute."

I really hope him being here, means what I think it means. Jude is cute, he's funny, he's an artist. He looked away when he saw me kinda nekked, which means he's probably some kind of gentleman, if those even exist anymore. What more could a gal ask for? I'm actually beginning to think I'm doing Annika a favor here. Who wants Los Angeles when you can have a tall dork who slams his face into freezer doors?

After I'm dressed, have a towel secured around my head, and only smell faintly of a grease trap, I find Jude sitting at the kitchen table. He smiles at me when I enter and I smile at the pizza sitting in front of him. Come to mama, you cheesy devil.

"So... you don't like pickles on your burgers but you like pineapple on your pizza?" He asks in disbelief.

I place my hands on my hips. "Have you ever tried it?"

"No."

"Well, why not?"

"I don't know. I've never met someone who actually eats it," he shrugs.

"Come on," I say, picking up the pizza box. Jude follows me down the hall to my room.

Closing the door behind us, I place the pizza on the floor and dim the lights. I instruct him to sit by it, while I walk around the room and light all of my candles. After shuffling through my playlist, I find the sexiest slow jam.

"What are you doing?" He laughs.

"The first time has to be special," I say with a wink.

I sit opposite of him, the mixture of sweet and savory smell drifting between us. I open the box and we both grab a slice. The flicker of the candle dances in his hazel eyes. I can't believe this is happening so fast.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask him.

"I've never been so sure about anything in my entire life," he says.