“We should totally meet up for the Gold Parade tomorrow. I mean, if you want to.”
An army of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. Is this hot guy seriously asking me to hang out? Is he going to hand me a blank check next?
“Well.” I try to keep my voice steady, even though I really want to scream or laugh or something at how awesome this night has turned since Jordan walked off. “I am going to check them out for sure. And if you’re going to . . .”
“Looking forward to it, then,” he says, giving me this huge smile that makes me want to float away like a hot air balloon over the desert.
“Oh, wait. Before you go.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket. “I’m doing this thing where I’m documenting my weekend. First time at Cabazon and all.”
“I get it. You want me to take a picture of you and your tent?”
“No, silly. I need a picture with you. But we can try to get the tent in the background.” Again, I wish my ring light wasn’t buried in my bag, but I don’t want to push my luck by asking him to wait while I dig around in my duffel so this shot is well-lit. My lighting needs are hard to explain to outsiders, so the flash will have to do.
I scoot myself so I’m right up against him, my back making contact with his chest. I stretch my T. rex arm out for a selfie.
“I’ll get it,” he says, and he gently grabs the phone from my hand, brushing my fingers as he takes it from me. His arm is long and his glorious bicep is right by my ear, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I think about telling him that I have a mini tripod in the back of the car, but I somehow lose my head a little while I’m pressed up against him, and he snaps the picture.
“Check it out,” he says as he hands my phone back to me, but I can’t even manage to look. I’m too caught up in the buzz his biceps left on my ear and the sting of the flash in my eyes. “Is it good?”
“What? Oh, yeah, it’s great.” I shove my phone in my pocket and shift around. Jeez, Andi. Make words come out of your mouth.
He doesn’t leave like I thought he would. He’s still standing there, and he’s looking at me, smiling and expectant, so I look back. We stand there and stare at each other, both of us smiling like goofs, for what feels like ten minutes but is probably more like fifteen seconds. However long it is, it’s past the length that two people who just met should be gaping at each other. There’s that Cabazon festival magic again, making this charged moment between us feel like it’s crackling with electricity and exploding with promise instead of awkward as hell.
“It was awesome meeting you,” he says, finally. “But I really do have to go. I’ll pop back over tomorrow morning.” He picks up his lantern and trots off, disappearing behind the sheet hanging down the front of his E-Z Up, like a desert mirage.
“What just happened?” I ask myself out loud as I crawl into my tent. It occurs to me as I change into my pajamas that I gave him my name, but I never got his. Is that another normal festival thing? Should I have not given him my name or made up some alias? I’ll have to ask Jordan about that in the morning.
The whole drive here, I stared out the window and watched the desert zoom by, wondering if there was any hope for me this weekend. How would this all work out if I had no good ideas, no definite plan? I had no hope that I’d actually find a way to end up at SCU next year like I want to be.
On the way here, I felt like maybe this weekend was a mistake.
But now, it feels like a turning point. Like maybe something will work out for me after all.
Thanks for sharing! :)
ReplyDeleteHappy to share and help!
Delete