It’s a Story, I Guess. (Another one coming soon. A better one)

I bit my lip, hoping my talents of telepathy had substantially increased in the last 20 seconds, hoping that by some chance she would get the hint.

“So this class I’m taking—” she hurried on, excited. I tuned out her words, focused solely on the perfectly even pearly white squares of tooth which filled her mouth like so many pieces of trident mint gum. Nestled in the top right of her mouth, wedged between two teeth, a lone scrap of lettuce rested nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t an unwelcome parasite in her otherwise socially acceptable mouth. My vision narrowed as if I was blacking out—I could only focus on that one—tiny—detail.

The flurry of words tumbling out of her mouth at high velocity left no room for interruption. “You ha—” I began, lifting my hand from where it lay against my cheek , as if hand gestures could keep the awkward feeling the conversation had taken at bay. She verbally trampled me. I couldn’t help but lick my own teeth. I wasn’t sure if it was a subconscious and inescapable clue that she should do the same, or merely a desire to make sure I wasn’t in the same boat she was. Either way, she took no notice. My foot began to tap against the table, a seemingly separate entity from myself as well as the situation.

I scratched my ear, trying to look her in the eyes. She continued to describe in detail the sweater she wore yesterday. I nodded along. When I blinked I couldn’t help but keep my eyes shut just a millisecond longer than usual. I breathed in deeply. “You know, you…” My hands came together in a pleading gesture that she ignored.

“Ought to have worn that cute red dress instead? I know, a sweater is a little stuffy for a date, but I dunno—”

“It’s just,”

“I know, right? But—” But she rushed on, and I concentrated not on her words but on her pauses—when could I jump in? When would this end?

Suddenly she slowed her gushing waterfall of words to a slower trickle, flashing a smile at the polo shirted 20something walking through the door.

“You have something!” I blurted, far louder than intended. My words hurled across the table, smacking the smile off her face. She arched her eyebrows.

“I mean,” I explained, “you have some spinach. In your,” I gestured towards my own mouth. She mirrored me. “In your teeth.”

She gasped, squealing, “Really! Oh my god!”

I nodded sympathetically.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”