by Maria Trudalidi

Created on: July 03, 2008

I wasn't good with words. I could talk, but I tried to avoid it. I could write, very elaborately actually, but only when I had to. I usually made a fool of myself whenever I opened my mouth, so I went to places with enough people talking to not notice my solemness.
And that's how we met. In a crowded bar, with constant buzzing of other people's conversations, slurping of their drinks.

I was staring into my wine glass when I got that feeling. The feeling of being watched, you know? When all the hairs on your neck stand on their ends, when you know you're not alone. Well, I mean as alone as a quiet 23 year-old woman can be in a bar.
So I looked up, casually scanning the place. And there he was. A man, not much older than me. Lean, wearing a stained T-shirt, blue jeans. Smiling at me, his large blue eyes twinkling. I smile back at him then go back to staring at my wine. I don't even know why I got wine. I hate the taste. I push the glass away from me and get up from my bar stool. I look at the man, but he is gone. I frown. Oh well, I didn't even know him. And then, just as I'm about to leave he's next to me.
"I'm Josh," he says and stretches his hand towards me. I stand awkwardly, looking at his huge grin, his twinkling eyes. Finally I shake his hand.
"May, I'm May," I say and can't help but smile.
"You leaving?" Josh asks, climbing up on a stool.
"I was, yes."
"Why don't I walk you over to the door?" Josh's grin gets wider. I shrug.
"I guess it won't hurt."
So I walk with Josh, and in my head I'm laughing. Here I am, with my masters degree, walking out of a bar, with a man who I don't even know. You know his name, a part of me says. The other part keeps laughing. Judging by all that paint on his shirt he's probably a painter, or something of the sort. He's not my type. In fact, I should pretend I have somewhere urgent to go right now, push past him and run for the door, the other part of me says.
When we reach the door he opens it for me, and I walk into the dark streets, the chilly air wrapping around me, the cold wind playing with my shoulder-length hair. I turn to Josh.
"Well, I guess good-bye..." I say.
"I guess..." he says quietly. I catch my hair before it brushes his face, give him another smile and hurriedly start walking away.
"May?" he calls. I turn around and he's running after me.
"Yes?" I say when he's reached me.
"Would you like to go to dinner with me?" he asks. I blink rapidly, taken aback.
"I guess...Sure?"
"How about tomorrow?" he offers.
"Okay, here's my number,

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