Friday, January 28, 2011

Fridays with Fenech: That's her, for sure

By Anthony Fenech, Senior Reporter || January 28, 2010

You laugh.

That was her. For sure. You smile. Her! For sure!

You walk through the library doors, struck by a lightning bolt of, well, freakin’ love man, and you’re smiling, you’re laughing, you want to look back but you absolutely cannot look back and –

Did she know it was you? You made eye contact. You definitely made eye contact and –

Dude! Why didn’t you talk to her? You always swore that you’d talk to her. You always said you’d holler at her and –

You’re still smiling. Still laughing, shaking your head in a dreamy disbelief, rocked by this hurricane of hottness with two T’s; eyes wide, jaw dropped, earbuds about to pop out the ears, still thinking, wondering just what in the history of the world that was and –

Dude! That was her. You have to talk to her. For sure.

You laugh.

She’s online. Had to be. You met her on Facebook, got her number on Facebook; you’ve talked to her on Facebook – randomly, from time-to-time although you admit it’s not really talking as much as it is you asking stupid questions and her giving stupid answers – and you’ve basically creeped, pretty successfully, for two years running.

You can’t believe you’re really about to do this but you do it anyways, still laughing, and you tell her that you think – no, that you know – you saw her in the library earlier that day.

She says yeah, she was in the library. You ask if she saw you. She says nope, she didn’t. You think that sucks. There’s an awkward pause. You ask what she’s doing tonight. She says she’s got a PowerPoint presentation to finish. You think that sucks. Another awkward pause. You ask her if she wants to get a cup of coffee. She says, “Oh, this excuse again…”

You laugh.

You don’t know what you’re doing here. You don’t know how you got here. And you certainly don’t know why you’re standing here; inside this McDonald’s, on this night, staring blindly at a menu, hoping to come across a McFlurry spiked with scotch and wondering why you had to get dealt this card of curiosity and –

That’s her. For sure. Eye contact for the first time in two years.

You say hi. She says hi. You don’t know what else to say. She doesn’t know what else to say. You laugh. It’s weird. She laughs. Real weird.

She thinks it’s funny. You think you’re funny.

And you talk, for 42 minutes, with this real-life girl and without a backspace button, each minute a little less weird than the next.

And you walk, out of the same cyber-clouded doors you walked in through, with a human face on a Facebook page.

You say you should get her number, just in case you think of another excuse to see her.

She laughs. Says she’ll text it to you.

You laugh. You’re already thinking of that excuse.

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