makjon86 asked:


“HEY KID, YOU’RE THE TOAST OF THE TOWN!” Vince Neil’s nasally voice rang through the speakers of my parents maroon Chevy Trailblazer. In a different situation I might have sang along. But not today. Today Mick Mars’ overdriven guitar riffs couldn’t slow the rapid beating of my heart. Today I was meeting Sarah; the queen of my numerous text messages, dutchess of my instant messaging, Aphrodite of my technological communications.

And my heart was beating in my throat as I searched for her house number. “123. Damn, I passed it.” I announced to no one.

A startled family of four eyed me suspiciously as I turned around and parked the car on the street in front of the cream-colored split-level known as 121 Cloverdale Lane. I killed the radio and rolled up the windows. I took one final swig of a rather large Amp Energy Drink and popped a piece of gum in my mouth. I opened the door. A sudden gust of wind knocked an empty box of condoms into the street. The condoms that had been inside were discretely tucked into my wallet. “Just in case,” I told myself.

I looked up at the house. Two sedans were parked in the driveway but her parents weren’t supposed to be home. I climbed the small set of stairs that led to the front door. After double-checking the house number I took a deep breath and rang the door bell.

Ding-dong.

In a second we were face to face. She opened the door and I forced a nervous smile as I pushed my Armani Exchange sunglasses onto my forehead. She returned the smile and invited me inside. I entered the house and slipped off my shoes.

In a split-second all my defenses came crashing down. Am I good looking-enough? Do I smell good enough? Do I look good in this shirt? She’s out of my league. What are we gonna talk about? DON’T MESS THIS UP!

I followed her down the stairs to the basement and sat next to her on the couch. I took another calming breath and looked around. I immediately noticed the large black cast on her right foot. “It’s a brace.” she said as she adjusted one of the several Velcro straps. We continued to chat awkwardly with guarded laughter as she scrolled through the shows on her DVR.

She finally settled on the South Park Movie.
“Have you ever seen this?” she asked.
“No. But I can do a wicked Cartman impression.”
“Oh yeah? Can I hear it? Only if it’s good though.”
I laughed. “Nah, it’s not very good.”

She wasn’t content to watch the whole movie, only showing me highlights and segments that she found amusing. I didn’t find it funny but I forced an occasional chuckle to bemuse her. After what seemed like hours, she finally ended our Sportscenter-esque viewing of the South Park flick.

After an awkward silence she looked over at me and said, “Ooh I have an idea. Do you like scary movies?”

“No. Not in the least. I can’t even watch them. I get nightmares and won’t sleep for like a week,” is what would have been the truth.

Instead I opted for the only slightly more masculine, “That depends. Is it really scary?”

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Is this good? How can it be better? It’s the first part of probably a 3-part series.