First Impression

A penny for your thoughts? No? Cool.

Are we gonna talk at all tonight? I mean, this is a date, right? We're supposed to socialize, right? You wanna be here right now... right?

I can't tell if she's bored or tired. Maybe both. I'm not a conversationalist, but I'm usually pretty good at sensing body language. I can't read her, though. She's an enigma to me.

When I asked her out for the first time, I didn't know if she was interested or hesitant when she said yes. Holding back excitement or annoyance? Thinking of things to do or thinking of a plan to get out of this? I didn't ask. I probably should have to be polite. But she never told me she wouldn't go.

In fact, we planned the date ahead of time. She arrived early. She bought us both a drink. I told her I would pay her back, but she told me she insisted. It's a nice gesture, yes, but there was a certain monotone quality to her voice that didn't indicate her interest one way or another to me. Maybe she was serious and wanted to do it as a kind gesture, or maybe she did it to get me off her back. All I know is that in the last ten minutes, we haven't said a word to each other. Does she want to talk to me? Does she know I want to talk to her but don't know what to say? I look at her every now and again. Does she look at me? Again, I can't tell. She's either incredibly subtle about it or she's focusing her attention on the bartender as he wipes an empty glass. Who knows?

I guess I can't blame her. She's the kind of girl that appreciates her solitude, the kind I imagine would want to pour herself a fancy bottle of wine as she sat on the couch to watch television for the weekend. She probably has a stash of Merlot in a wine cellar in her basement, popped open only on the most special of occasions. She'd have particular taste in food, culture, intellectual interests. A dingy bar in the middle of Times Square doesn't seem like the kind of place she would want to spend a Saturday evening with a guy who usually only wears striped polos and khaki pants and is perfectly fine with a Diet Coke or two to quench his thirst. But why would she be here if she didn't want to waste her time?

I internally beg her for some sort of sign. An eyebrow raise to indicate confusion. A fidget of her thumb to indicate she's lost in deep thought. A subtle smirk to indicate at least a hint of happiness. Nothing. She looks at her phone every now and again. I look at mine after a while to fill the awkward silence. The clinging of beer glasses in the background taunts me. I can practically feel the excited tension of friends and lovers toasting small or even big accomplishments in their lives. The glass never has that satisfying clink for me. Rather a big clunk as I take a sip or two of my Budweiser and set it down on the table. Same for her and her glass of champagne, only her clunk is much more elegant because of how small her glass is. While her glass makes one very quick sound, every slight noise I make reverberates around the bar, echoing as it bounces against the walls and into my head. I feel like I need some Ibuprofen. The more I think, the more I find myself lost for words. Lost for answers. Lost for hope.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"Huh?" Dazed and surprised, I look up at her.

"You haven't said a word since we ordered our drinks. And you look tired."

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just..." I slowly move my hands down my face in an attempt to stimulate myself awake. "I'm terrible at starting conversations."

"I totally get it."

I can't help but do a double take at that statement. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I'm not the best conversationalist either."

It isn't my hands or the beer that wakes me up, it's that sudden revelation. I can't help but blurt out excitedly now. "You? Oh, come on, you're, like, the most easygoing person I've ever met."

"Well, let's just say I don't start conversations often."

"Wow. Okay, good to know." I start overthinking my past interactions with her, wondering if I've blown it by not realizing I could have just asked a random icebreaker and gotten things moving.

Clearly, my overanalyzing face isn't subtle. "Oh, come on, don't feel bad, I totally get it. I'm sorry, I should have said something earlier."

"No, I'm sorry, I just didn't realize you... I mean, you..."

As I start stumbling over my words, she raises her eyebrow slightly, looking me up and down in a worried expression. Wait, body language I recognize. She's worried about me! Wait... she's worried about me? "Hey, are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just... I'm just a b-bit nervous, that's all, I don't--"

"Oh, come on, you don't have to be nervous, it's okay."

"I just... I just want to make a good first impression, that's all."

She chuckles. "You already have, you doof. I wouldn't be on this date with you otherwise."

"I sure hope that's true."

"It is! Look, to prove it to you, why don't we ditch this joint and go to my place, just chill out for a bit?"

"You really want to?"

"Why not?"

"Alright, let's do it."

She places money on the table for both of our drinks and starts walking out, beckoning me to follow her. I can tell what her body language is telling me this time: I like you, let's have a fun night. I leave with her, hoping that the rest of this night will go just as well.