I get up from my seat, knock on your door, and wait for you to answer.
Maybe you’ll open the door and raise your eyebrows in wonder that it’s me. But being your polite self, ask me to come in and sit down anyway. For a few minutes, none of us will know what to say. We’ll hem and haw and I’ll ask if you’re too busy to go out and get a drink. You’ll raise your eyebrows again. But say, of course you’re not, let’s go. We’ll drive in silence, still not knowing quite what to say. I’ll probably order the house wine and you your Long Island Iced Tea. Between sips and painfully deliberated upon smatterings of awkward conversation, maybe I will feel bold enough to put my hand on your knee. You’ll probably raise your eyebrows again. Only slightly this time.
I get up from my seat, knock on your door, and wait for you to answer.
Maybe you’ll open the door and raise your eyebrows in wonder that it’s me. Maybe you’ll wait at the door, you wondering if you need to let me in, and me wondering whether, in fact, you will. Maybe the wait will be long enough to make my last dregs of courage melt away and I will borrow a coaster and walk away.
