Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

Flee

I had been smart enough to select a bar stool to the left of him, giving myself a good view of the lobby area of the restaurant. The positioning made it much easier to pretend I was paying attention rather than plotting my escape plan.

Two weeks earlier, I had found myself in an e-mail exchange with a WPI grad student who seemed pleasant enough – the photographic evidence pointed more towards neo-hippie than to pocket protectors. There had even been brief phone conversations, which had gone surprisingly smoothly, and then, ultimately…this.

I had almost ignored him completely upon his arrival at the agreed-upon destination, an almost-rundown lake side family restaurant with a small bar – until he recognized me from my photos. In this, my date had an unfair advantage, as the pictures I had sent to him were actually recent, unlike his own apparently. He carried with him a minimum of forty extra pounds, all of which being fat and pasty.

Okay, don’t panic, I thought. He just gained some weight.

I was surprised at how calmly I had handled the surprise introduction, though I was not at all embarrassed by my early denial of his identity. As we dove into the first (only) round of drinks, WPI openly told me about his interests, which included medieval role-playing games.

“So you like Dungeons and Dragons,” I stated, almost choking on my drink. This was going to get ugly…fast.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, caught slightly off-guard by the assumption. It was obvious he had hoped to avoid that stereotype.

“That’s really…fascinating,” I said, bored, but somehow managing to feign interest.

“Yeah, I don’t really play that as much anymore,” he said. “It’s not so easy to get into at my mom’s house.”

“You live with your mom?” I asked, smiling and trying to hold back laughter. Granted, I had done my stint at the house of a parental unit, but let’s be real…I was a girl.

It was sometime around that point that I no longer heard the words that were coming out of his mouth. I had tuned out completely, wrapped up in thought on how best to get out of the situation. I wondered for a moment if I even cared about sparing this poor lad’s feelings. And then, suddenly, like a beacon in the night – I saw it.

The ladies’ room.

There it was – about six feet from the main entrance to the restaurant. It would be so easy to just…slip right out. As I examined the restroom’s proximity to freedom, I suddenly remembered one small detail that would, perhaps, foil my master plan. I had brought my coat, given the crisp April night air.

Don’t panic, I thought. You can figure this out.

I looked at WPI, who was still talking and apparently not noticing my straying gaze whatsoever, and smiled, before suddenly shivering.

“Do you think it’s cold in here?” I asked, rubbing my arms.

“No, at least, I don’t think so.”

“I am absolutely freezing,” I said, pulling my coat on. “Oh, that is SO much better.”

You are a god damned genius, I said to myself with a self-assured grin. All I had to do now was to wait for the right moment, the right break in the conversation. After about ten more minutes, I could no longer pretend to be in any way interested in anything this person had to say, and I was nearing the point of utter, brutal honesty.

“Would you excuse me?” I asked, politely and coyly. “I need to use the little girls’ room.”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” he said, standing as I rose from my seat. It was a shame that he was a gentleman.

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January 12, 2009 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

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