Cardigan date

Shivers of insecurity yet a bead confidence in her tiny little red dress, the fact that she doesn’t see who or what to compare to, builds a sense of coziness in her own skin. She smiles and slips the thin cotton cardigan down her shoulders, softly it falls into the ground unnoticed. Days, weeks, months, years she’s always wanted to uncovered her flabby arms, as she thought she had, just to get the cool breeze kisses from mother nature telling her she’s good enough. Finally, thanks to the guy who sits across the table from her, judgment wasn’t a concern.

Sweet scent of caramel, jingle of jewelry, shift of the heels against the Mable floor, small gentle nervous moment from across the table, the smell of pepper mint breath, is enough for a thought of ‘classy woman’ to pop up. He wonders if her appearance holds what he has in mind, beautiful, maybe short, fairly small in view of just a narrow pathway of air that blows his way is blocked. She says ‘hi’ her vocal sound holding a natural crispiness, he thinks it’s the simplest thing yet somewhat innocent, so beautiful. He contemplates on pulling his blind away from his eyes but he couldn’t, not yet. At least let his mind race in the thousand imaginary possibilities, letting the tension build, a great mystery to him is the embodiment of sexiness. He could hold on to the idea of a beautiful short woman.

He is possibly a gentleman, by the way he asks for her name. She paints the man in her head, his height probably ranging at five eight. Tall guys have never been her thing over the years, having concluded that most of them aren’t so gentle as she preferred. His voice doesn’t seem to have an inclined angle towards her, well not so much, she thought he’s undoubtedly just a head taller. Asking where she came from had her picking up an accent, nothing she has heard before and couldn’t quite place his native origin. He’s probably not from around, or maybe he is, with a faked accent because people do that.

She’s probably an introvert, her small talks sound reserved, giving less than a sentence or two kind of answer. He tries to offer an open-ended question maybe this could stir up a conversation, but her answers aren’t something he could work with, not much to read into. Mentally he wrote down his list, ’not much talkative’ but it could work for him, being an outgoing and a talkative himself, just an opposite of him could be his perfect match. Besides two different worlds make the best of both worlds.

Silence, something she expected yet not so much, since having a blind fold over your eyes, is like an opening to one’s mouth and ears. Without the ability to see, she could just listen to everything, consider a couple of things, maybe disagree on a few points that didn’t make feel comfortable. Eyes not cast on her, it could probably be the best time to be the feminine version she has always admired and wanted to be, the bold type. She could do things that her eyes wont judge, like maybe stretch her hand over the table pick the glass of juice and take a big gulp. But that would ruin her lipstick and wasn’t worth being concern about. But would he even care? Does he even see through the thick material? Or did he pull the blind off and he is now staring at her without her knowledge?

Love life is a topic she’s all in, she’s open, maybe that’s the first thing he should have asked, by now he could have known her just a little bit more. He asks what she likes in a relationship, her ideal kind of guy, she hesitates for a moment, perhaps she doesn’t have a standard list of ideal men, he is lucky then. Hard work, effort, commitment, the idea that you want something so much, a man who is out to chase the lady, that’s the kind of man she would have a relationship with. Old school is her love motto but he likes it easy, always what he got, the fact that the woman in front of him wants some effort, is something that has him second guessing if she’s worth the try. She’s quite ethical and thinks old is gold, the list grows in this mind.

Nervous laughter from across the table proves that he doesn’t believe in her values, twenty first century kind of love is what he wants she can’t have that in her man.  ‘her man’ She cringes mentally as she rolls her eyes, those two words don’t seem right, they are so new and foreign, sounds almost fake. Just like her date’s accent. She has already one red cross on her list, still not enough to cancel him out.

Smell of freshly baked bread reminds him of his mum morning baking routine for the small bakery they owned in their home town off another continent. Merry, as his date said her name was, how she had tried to convince him it was merry and not Mary was laughable. How she kept insisting they have a different yet slight pronunciation had him viewing a different kind on introvert. She was outgoing when engaged, and could be termed as an extrovert depending on which type of people she hanged out with, this side of her was magnetic.

Conversations were easier now, lighter, fun and it’s because of his sneakers. The itch on the bridge of her nose had her pushing the blind slightly up her face careful not to scratch off her foundation, his sneakers had come to view then. She knew she shouldn’t have seen them, since at times the shoe speaks more about a person. Pretty original, she assumed, easier to relate to. Simplicity was her call and her acceptance. A cool breeze blows towards her carrying along his cologne dumping the last of its odor on her nose. Its naughty, she thought a small smile coming up her lips, quite an invite to lean in and get lost in the glorious scent. Was that his man charm? Did he do that intentionally? Because it was working, the urge to push the blind off was growing quite demanding.

Soft glossed lips, short bob haircut, perfectly manicured nails that slowly pulled the blind off her eyes. Natural eyebrows came to view, he liked that. He knows her he has seen her before, her face holds a familiar impression. She is just what he had imagined but maybe with a longer hair. Her eyes widen at the shock that his blind was already off and was neatly folded in the table.

Her lips part at the expense of forming a word but, nothing comes out. She gave him a once over as a shocked realization came to her face.

 ‘’ I thought I’d find you here,’’ he smiled,’’ MERRY,’’

His foreign accent is gone, he is from home land, a realization strikes her as horror sets in.

He arises from his seat and like a gentleman he is, stretches his hand out for her to take.

Her eyes become glossy for a moment, she looks around something to make a run for, but her heels are way too high and too sophisticated for a run. He’s way too built to get past him. Slowly she stretches her hand, placing cautiously on his palm as her lifts her gentle from the chair

‘’let’s go home,’’ wrapping his hands around her small back he leads her out of the cafeteria.

The thin cardigan lay on the floor, loss of ownership, left on to the world once again, it hasn’t seen its last. ‘Merry’ was its second, another life it had seen, covered another skin full of story yet silent. It was yet to see more and venture on diversity of what next.

It buzzes.

A notification pops up on phone tucked in the cardigan’s small pocket,

‘hey there merry, due to technicalities that occurred last night your blind date has been rescheduled to Saturday. See you then!’

Only the cardigan knows what happened, maybe he could live to tell more untold stories and maybe the waiter walking towards the abandoned table could pick it up and sell it for a few coins to a third owner. It is the cardigan and It saw.