Trouble

"Okay," she replied absently, her attention already back on her work.

Alright, she had agreed. Now I just needed a story. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered what her reaction might be. Vividly, I could picture each scenario in my mind. Sometimes, she was flattered, but uninterested, other times she was angry and offended and avoided me. In one, she didn't react to it at all, just ignored it. Others were more pleasant.

"Kyle, that story you wrote was so sweet, no ones ever done anything like that for me before."

"I wanted to tell you, but every time I'm near you I can't think straight. I thought this would be a good way. So, as long as I've put it out there, what do you say? Would you want to do something sometime? Go see a movie or something? Or we could just go somewhere and talk. Who knows maybe we'll hit it off."

I always snap out of my daydream before she answers. This was a dumb idea, it was crazy. She'd never go for it, and even if she did, what then? What could I offer? What the hell man? I berated myself angrily, what do you mean 'what can you offer her?' You're a good guy, you've got plenty to offer: for starters you're smart, you're talented, you keep yourself in good shape. Sure, maybe you're not rich, but what do you expect? You're paying your way though college. Get a grip and remember what you've achieved in your life, your accomplishments, all the hard work and effort it took to get here. With renewed confidence, I considered the task at hand.

Later that evening, I sat in front of my PC, a new word processor document open on the screen. White, pristine-a blank canvas upon which to create. Someone once said, "To repeat an action and expect a different outcome is a sure sign of madness." Well, for years I had been doing the same things and just hoping for the best. Hoping things would fall into place for me. It was time for something new, to take a chance. I placed my hands on the keyboard and began to type.

The rest of this story is out of my hands.