The Patient Sikh: Part Twenty-Two: The Date?

This an excerpt from a novel in progress and a work of fiction.

So I’m sitting there, minding my own business, painting my nails purple, when the phone rings. I pick it up, annoyed that someone called while I was doing my nails. “Hey,” the voice says. Oh my God, it’s Sonny! Holy shit he’s actually calling me.

What am I supposed to say, “Hey there,” is all I can muster. My nails are still wet so I don’t want to move my hands around too much. Two of my nails still need paint on them and I stare at them as I wonder what compelled him to call.

“How’s it going?”

“Ahh, it’s good,” I say fumbling and mumbling. Say something cool. Say something amazing.

“What have you been up to?” Sonny asks and I want to burp but I’m trying not to do it into the phone.

So you want to hear about my amazing life? Let me tell you it’s not that amazing. Nothing is happening. All I’m doing is thinking about you. “Oh, you know, the usual.” Oh my God! I’m so boring! I can’t do this, I can’t be a human. I’m not interesting enough.

“I was thinking about maybe coming by this weekend,” he says and I try not to gasp too loud.

“Oh yeah, that would be cool,” I say and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyebrows are too bushy, I have a little pimple next to my lips. Am I pretty enough for you, Sonny?

“Yeah, so maybe Saturday night, we could do something,” he responds and I try not to die. He wants to spend his Saturday night with me. That’s an important night.

We talk about logistics for a few minutes more and I put the phone back up on the wall. My nail polish is everywhere now. It’s on my fingers, the palm of my hands. I could care less.

So I decide on black pants and a lavender sweater. Lavender happens to look good on my complexion. I’ve learned that it’s very important what color I wear, my skin looks bad in like yellow or brown. I’m wearing matching lavender lipstick.

Should I wear blush? I don’t know, it might be too much. My cheeks naturally get red when I get nervous anyways. I washed my hair, and now I think it’s a little too frizzy. I don’t use products on my hair, I can’t remember why. I just don’t. But my hair looks a little too full, like it needs to be pressed down or something.

There’s nothing I can think to do about it but brush it some more. I hear a knock at the door. Oh my god, it’s him. I try to look casual as I open my dorm room door. My roommate is in the background being annoying by simply existing, as usual. I want to slap her, just for being in the room at this critical juncture of my life.

“Hi,” I say and want him to go in for a hug, but he doesn’t, so of course I don’t.

“Hey,” he says, looking so cool in a brown suede jacket with semi-faded jeans.

I think I’m wearing the wrong outfit, can you like leave and come back in an hour when I decide how to look as cool as you do? “You wanna come in?” is all I really ask. And why pray tell did I ask him that when my bitch of roommate is sitting there, pretending to watch T.V. as she listens to our every move. “Actually, why don’t we just go?” I say trying not to stumble over to my coat and put on this white vinyl windbreaker. It’s not that cute, I need a new wardrobe I think as we walk into the hallway.

I feel kind of proud of walking around campus with such a good looking guy. I wave at a couple friends and acquaintances in the dorm and feel like I’m really special. I want to tell him how special he is to to me as we eat dumplings at a Chinese restaurant. Neither one of us uses chopsticks, we are so American it’s uncool.

But I like being uncool with him. I could be uncool with you forever, is what I am thinking when he laughs at my sarcastic tone as I talk about breaking my ‘diet’ that I’ve been on for like the past eight years. I kind of started dieting when I was ten.

“So what do you want to do now?” Sonny asks and I want to say, kiss you for hours. But I don’t. He has not held my hand or in any way been affectionate to me so far. I’m OK with that because I don’t need someone to be all over me. But he’s not acting like this is a date. His tone is that of a friend. Fuck.

“What do you want to do?” I ask sheepishly. I’m not confident enough, I’ve read enough women’s magazines to know that a man likes confidence.

“You want to take a drive or something?” he asks and I perk up at the suggestion. Does he want to spend time making out with me in the car? What will we do in a car in the dark evening?

It turns out we are driving, just driving. We are now in a wooded area that I showed him that my friend took me to a while ago. It’s a beautiful drive, but I didn’t come in this car to look at trees. I came here to find out what is going on between Sonny and me.

We are talking, I mean we can’t stop talking, until we do. We are now sitting in car listening to music, not talking. I want to somehow bring up the topic of whatever this is, is it a relationship? A friendship? Am I just one of the guys? I’m never one of the guys. I’m such a girl sometimes...

nina