Eighteen

The clock on my bedside table says it was almost 3 in the morning. I couldn’t believe that last night had been real. The drive back had been totally different, we actually conversed and even stayed in the car after we had arrived. He wasn’t teasing or trying to make me feel uncomfortable in any way. It felt like a real date.

I mean, it was a date and all I kept thinking was “So that’s what a date was.”

In other circumstances, maybe in another life, I would have already gone to several of them. Maybe not quite as much but at least one or two; movie and a diner or perhaps a party where the alcohol was bought my someone’s older brother and the pretty girls from the school were dressing in skinny jeans and tight shirts. That’s how usually goes in movies, but not to me.

He must be sleeping by now while I twist and turn overthinking or going over every little detail, I swear I’m trying to fall asleep but the cranks i