||[Nov. 14th, 2006|03:36 pm]
I've thought about different things I could do to let him know where I'm at. Movies gave me the idea of a short glance, but in real life the possibility of him not agreeing with it makes it too frightening and far-fetched. When he came over to the water fountain that one time, I should have said hi, but my ears were boiling with forgetfullness.|
Class left history for an assembly, and I walked out with Jill, wondering if he would take the opportunity to follow behind me. Nope.
We walk in single-file and they seat us in rows. I sit down and turn to see if he's somewhere close behind me. Nope.
I turn back to settle my things on the floor. That's his shoe next to my bag. Those are his shorts. That's his sleeve on the arm-rest.
Was this supposed to happen? Who engineered this? Him or God? Or Satan? Or no one?
How am I supposed to sit? My thighs look big unless I cross them, which seems too snooty. I'll just hold the weight of my legs on my tip toes so that the epidemics don't blubber all over the seat until they pass us the paper so I can cover myself. Ok. Wait, I'm too tall in my seat because of my relatively massive torso. Slouch a bit, there, so you're not higher than him, and not more dominant. This is his responsibility, too, and I want him to know that. Ok, here's the paper, good I can relax my feet. I can feel the pressure of his hoodie sleeve on mine. Wow, that's nice. Every time he moves I get it--- there, contact.
Maybe complementing his hair would be a good way to start off, that way if he is where I am he knows to inch his way in, and if not, someone likes his hair and that's nice. Nothing awkward in that. I think about asking him to borrow his pen for a second, but he puts it away before I work up the nerve.
I don't know what this means.