“God, I’m so nervous. Why am I so nervous? I don’t get nervous.” I rambled to Steven as he sat there in his undergraduate psychology major therapist state.

“It’s probably because she is really cool and very cute.”

“Yeah,” a goofy smile crossed my face.

“You will do great! Just be confident and be yourself! She will like you!” Steven tried to reassure me, as if it was that easy.


I changed my shirt three times before I left. I don’t think I’ve ever cared so much before. Honestly it doesn’t make any sense why I cared so much. I had known this girl for a year maybe but only had spoken to her two or three times while I was drunk at a party I was hosting. It’s just those two or three times when we talked, intoxicated, I don’t think I had ever had conversation that had touched some inner part of me that had never been touched before. After a year it took a last second party and she was back into my life. I wasn’t even the one who invited her but when she came I remembered those deep conversations. As she left the party I told her I would get in touch soon and I did. We started talking and in some strange way I ended up setting up a date to a Rockies game with her.


Steven gave me his usual pep talk as I was leaving to pick her up. I was sweating profusely, my fingers wouldn’t stop tapping the steering wheel under my fingers, and my stomach was in knots. I pulled up to her house, walked to the front door, and knocked on the door.


I was nervous until we started talking, the conversation itself soothed me. The topics didn’t stop flowing and the fact I was scared of running out of things to talk about became a joke. We talked all the way to the parking lot of the stadium.


I sat in the chair, enjoying watching my favorite sport. Explaining what an RBI is or how the count works. I explained everything to her from pitch count to batting average. The whole time however all I could think of was holding her hand. How could I do it? What if I made her feel uncomfortable? I decided I would wait to hold her hand till the drive back.


It was the eighth inning and the Rockies were losing to the Padres 7 to 5, thunder was in the background and a lighting warning was causing the fans on the upper deck to take shelter inside. One single piece of hail fell on the seat in front of us. We traded glances.

“I think we might was to go inside, I have a bad feeling.” We started to walk up and as we made our way inside hail as large as dimes began to fall from the sky.

It was the eighth inning and I figured they would cancel the game so we took off. (Only later did I discover they didn’t cancel the game, and the Rockies made a comeback in the ninth.) We were walking back to our car, in what was now a light drizzle of rain, we stood waiting at the crosswalk for the little man to replace the big red hand. She was shivering. Go for it. I told myself as I put my arm around her to attempt to warm her up, she leaned into me. It didn’t last long as the light turned red and we walked across the street and back to my car.


On the way home it was more of the same, great conversation and we shared our favorite songs. It took a half hour for me to conjure up a plan to hold her hand. I put my hand on the gear shifter, and moved my fingers to the beat. I was so nervous, I didn’t want to ruin the rest of the date. My mind was on overload, but then, almost like she could feel my frantic struggle, I felt her fingers brush my wrist. Almost like magnets our fingers were soon interlocked and I couldn’t help but to let a smile dance across my face.


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