John and Millie, sat on the hood of his car, parked on the side street. John wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but was hesitant; afraid of what might happen if he reached out. What if she pulled away and rejected him? Slowly, his hand reached out and touched the fingers of her hand. . .

John and Millie, sat on the hood of his car, parked on the side street.  Her name was like music to him. Millicent Meade. Millicent Meade. He had said it over and over, a hundred times in his head. Her white-blonde hair almost blinded him as if it was the sun. He always seemed to see it move in slow motion. Each time she quickly turned her head, her hair seemed to hesitate at first, then slowly follow across the curves of her face, bounce to one side and then back in place to the other. For an instant, it would cover her nose and mouth.

 

It was the cutest nose he had ever seen, small, and turned upward just enough. It matched her soft lips that were just slightly larger in the middle than at the edges. They looked slightly pursed, as if ready to be kissed. And soft, so soft. He had imagined that softness dozens of times, soft and moist against his. But now, here, today, he dare not even think that. Kissing would be too bold, at first. 

 

“There’s no way I could start with a kiss”, he thought. “No, certainly not a kiss. I have to start small, and work my way up. We could hold hands. Yes! That would be a good way to start. She’s just sitting there, with her hand so very close to mine. It’s only a few inches away. Why can’t I reach out? She’s so close.”  

 

He had almost stopped breathing; as if holding his breath could freeze all time and he could, perhaps, move in between those frozen moments without her actually seeing his hand move towards hers. She would only know that one moment it was a few inches away and the next moment, it was touching her. 

 

He wanted to find that perfect moment to reach out. “Wait, was that the perfect moment? I missed it!” Each perfect moment seemed to pass so quickly. He couldn’t grasp them. Each one was gone in an instant. He wasn’t watching the cars go by, or noticing the wind, or even hearing what she was saying about school.

 

His heart was racing. His mind was racing. “What if it’s too soon? What if she doesn’t want to hold hands? What if she pulls away? What if she rejects me?” There were a thousand what ifs. . .Then, somehow, he didn’t know how, time did seem to stop. Slowly, his hand reached out and touched the fingers of her hand. . .