I met you wearing a sheath of heart-shaped arrows, a ridiculous bedazzled pink cardigan, and red pants.
I had lost a bet.
You'd actually been there to witness my losing the bet, but forgive me, I didn't know you were in Yearbook class. What would we have done if we'd talked more before then?
You'd have probably thought I was boring, which I am. I think the vest intrigued you.
You see, Yearbook needed two members to hand out valentines to the old folks at the home on Hillcrest as part of our community service. One of us was to dress up like Cupid.
Guess who that idiot was.
I met you at the home at promptly 7 AM, wearing something my mom had thrown together, pleased I was "participating in my community."
You looked me up and down and smirked. Your voice had a hot sauce bite to it. "I didn't know Cupid had a bedazzler."
I noticed your hair was chestn ut brown with bits of teal and lilac dancing at the ends, barely brushing the middle of your neck. "I lost a bet" I somehow mumbled.
"So did I," you said. "Let's get this over with."
The old folks' home smelled of soup and disgruntlement. And urine. Somehow the thought of soup and urine together made my stomach turn, but I had only just met you so I couldn't communicate this yet.
The procedure was simple: I introduced myself as Cupid, you handed them the handmade valentine, and they frowned until their nurse made them mumble "thank you." Perhaps the most eventful was a gentleman named Mr. Peters, who latched onto my sleeve before I could talk and started shouting about Vietnam.
Mr. Peters's nurse let us eat cold enchiladas in the cafeteria at the end of the day for free, probably because amidst his shouting he had torn off my sleeve.
"So," you said, wiping som e enchilada sauce off on your cloth napkin.
I wish you wouldn't give people just one word sometimes. You're beautiful, you know. People don't know what to say.
I took another forkful of food.
You sighed. "I'm gonna be crazy like that one day, you know. Screaming at bedazzled Cupids, letting my nurse send them off to eat microwavable enchiladas."
"You think so?"
"I know so. I'm crazy now, actually. Give me a few more years and I'll be running naked in the middle of traffic."
I snickered at this, and worried that I sounded like a horse asking for food I turned my head away. My face was growing as pink as my stupid shirt.
"So, Bedazzled Cupid. Some strange twist of fate has brought us here to the old folks home on Hillcrest."
"Yes. I assume that you watch movies."
"You're ver y intuitive."
"So I've been told. You like silent films?"
"Never seen one."
"No, I really---"
"Awww, no! Perfect window for you there, muchacho. You could've mouthed the words to me then it could've been just like a silent movie. You've so much to learn."
You took my hand then.
I'll never know why, but fingers curled around fingers and you said "Let's go."