Patient number two has left the building. Well, not right away. And so did patients three, four and five. All my wanderings had paid off. My silent genius has intimidated five people!
Speaking of wanderings, a pretty little thought crossed my mind. Clutching the end of the t-shirt (that’s not mine) my thoughts meander to the endless possibilities of the day, of my life, of the life of one clumsy crazy beautiful young man who perhaps intentionally poured food on me.
*Seeing through glazed eyes, I spotted him at the vendo machine. Perhaps he’s the lemonade type – laidback, approachable, endlessly charming. Or he could be the soda type – fun, adventurous, sugar addict who can’t sit still.
Oh god I’m mechanically scrapping the bottom of my tote bag for coins! I’m going to buy myself a soda. You go self! Go get that guy!
As I approached the vendo machine, he looks up, smiles divinely at me…and hands me a soda.
“I’m sorry about lunch today. I’m Franco by the way.”
“Thanks for the shirt. And the soda.” (Hmmm soda type.)
Franco: So, you’re here often?
Me: No. I just came in today.
Franco: Me too.
Me: Any results?
Franco: I’m still waiting for them.
Franco: Yes. There are many of them.
Me to self: Oh god. He must be really sick. How many medical results is he waiting for? Perhaps he is dying.
Franco: Where will you be later?
Me: Well, if you want your shirt back…
Franco: No, that’s not it. I mean, what will you do later?
Me to self: Oh yes! He’s going to ask me on a date!
Me: Home, I guess.
Me to self: Idiota!
Franco: Oh, so I guess that means no then.
Me to self: Idiota! Idiota! Idiota! There are no other words!
Me: I should be heading back. Goodbye, Franco.
* I don’t have people skills. If there was a report card for getting along with people, keeping people entertained and interested, making people do my every bidding, I would fail. The school would bust my sorry ass, my teachers would disown me, and the school guard would have happily escorted me out.
And for that, I am sure it would never work with Franco.
How do I know for sure? Well, (1) I’m not familiar with dating rules; I blew it when I gave him an uncanny answer to coffee. (Yes, what an idiota!) and (2) my conversational skills are that of an amoeba.
Serves me right! Apart from the fact that I am plain-looking, I would not have much to offer to Franco. I mean, he’s dying. I’m hopeless. He’s perfect. I’m perfectly hopeless.
*Could it be that he just simply saw me for me? Desperate? Could it be that he was just being kind? Perhaps he thought I was a charitable cause. Let’s date the poor ugly girl and die!
*Morbid. Truly morbid. But then, it’s not too late. I could comb the corridors and the vendos and the ICU in search for my geek god. I’ve never truly seen him until now, in my mind’s eye.
Tall and timid. Tense around the jaw area (he must cringe at the sight of me). Surprisingly clear eyes that look very alive (even more alive than mine).
And who would not want all that? I wonder what kind of boyfriend he would be – kind and gentle; when he gets angry it might pass for sexy; no mind games would go unnoticed by those eyes that look mocking and surprised at the same time.
I wish this might turn out to be some kind of twisted yet uneventful erotica but alas, I haven’t got any balls for that.
*To be continued…
**Photo from Free Photo Library from WordPress.Com