Chapter 7
Elsie
When I get home, I’m still nervous, reliving the events of the evening. I take a shower to calm myself (it doesn’t help) then slide into pajamas. I sit on the bed and hold my head. I just had dinner with the man of my dreams – was so anxious, nervous and ready to leave and now that I’ve had time to process it, I realize I blew it.
I blew it!
Big time!
I need to vent, so I call Priscilla. I said I would keep her out of my men problems, but I don’t have anyone else to talk to. Besides, she understands my flaky ways and I’ve never had this kind of carefree and open relationship with my mother so, Priscilla it is.
I call her, then hesitate, hang up and I’m about to call her back when she calls me.
“Hello.”
“Playing on the phone again, Elsie?”
“No. I was trying to call you, but—”
“Then why’d you hang up, buttercup?”
“Because I—something must’ve happened to the line. Is this a good time to talk? I don’t want to disturb you and Billie if you’re busy.”
“You’re fine. We’ve already had dinner and were just hanging out on the couch.”
“Hey, Elsie, Elsie,” Billie says into the phone, almost sounding like someone saying, here, kitty, kitty, while looking for their lost cat. Why he says my name twice every time he speaks is beyond me and highly annoying.
“Billie says hi,” Priscilla says, like I didn’t hear him.
“Hi,” I force myself to say, partly because I’m not in a greeting type of mood and because Billie is annoying as crap. But then, so is Priscilla, probably why ebony and ivory get along so well.
“So, what’s up?” Priscilla asks.
“Oh, Priscilla...you wouldn’t believe the day I had.”
“What happened today?” Priscilla asks. “That boujee chick got more flowers?”
“Boujee…what does that mean?” I hear Billie ask her.
I chuckle a little as she explains to him what boujee means, then when she’s back focused on me, I say, “No, this ain’t about Ms. Boujee. She always gets flowers. I’m talking about me. Something happened to me.”
“What is it?” she asks.
I can hear that she’s alert and I know she’s paying rapt attention to me.
“Do you remember the guy from Baconville this past weekend?”
“The super cute guy. Yeah. What about him?”
“I saw him again today. He was walking near my building and he actually recognized me.”
“Seriously?” she belts out.
I’m sure her reaction is one of shock. There’s nothing about me that stands out to a guy. Nothing.
“Yes. He actually recognized me. Isn’t that crazy?”
“I told you—he was so into you, Elsie. I told you!”
“But doesn’t that seem a bit peculiar to you? I see the guy for the first time this weekend and I run into him again on my street.”
“Who cares about whether it’s odd? This is the man of your dreams we’re talking about here. So, what happened after he recognized you?”
“He introduced himself. Of course, I’m a ball of nerves, but I somehow manage to say something.”
“Then what? You ran, didn’t you?”
“Thought about it,” I’ll admit. “But I didn’t. He asked me out to dinner.”
“Wait…like a date?”
“Yes. Then and there. I didn’t know what to do, but you know me…always saying no to everything. So, I did what I do best. I turned him down. I said no and he asked me why I was saying no, then he took me by the hand and showed me to a steakhouse.”
“He did what!” Priscilla yells.
“He took me to a steakhouse.”
“And you went?”
“I did.”
“Wait—so you actually had dinner with him?” Her voice is growing increasingly louder.
“Yes, I had dinner with him and it was a disaster, Priscilla. There’s a reason why men like him don’t date women like me. It’s like, now, I know what it means when people say they dated up or down because I was his down. I felt like I was so out of his league. Why do I—why do single women—get this image of an ideal man engrained into their minds and when a chance arises where you can possibly have your dream man, you realize he’s unattainable or that you’re not good enough? I’m so tired of not being good enough, Priscilla.”
“Elsie, you are good enough.”
“No, I’m not, and I’ll never be. You were right about me. I am afraid to be in a relationship. I don’t know how to talk without feeling scared. I’m twenty-eight-years-old and too timid to have a real conversation with a man, so I’m done trying. What’s the point? Guess I’ll just learn how to be alone for the rest of my life.”
“Elsie, you’re not going to be alone for the rest of your life.”
“There’s somebody for everybody, Elsie,” I hear Billie say. Now, I know he’s been paying attention to Priscilla’s conversation.
“Yeah,” Priscilla adds. “There’s somebody for everybody. This was just a hiccup.”
“No. A hiccup is when you’re dating a guy in college and he breaks up with you because you’re boring. This is real life, Priscilla, and maybe you can’t understand what I’m going through because you have it all together. So, you know what? Don’t worry about it. I just needed to vent. I’m going to go now.”
“Wait, Elsie—”
“Goodnight, Priscilla,” I tell her before hanging up. She attempts to call me back but I don’t have the strength to talk to her. I fall back on the bed instead and stare up at the ceiling, agonizing over my missed opportunity with Trevor, asking myself why I’m so odd and why I can’t be Ms. It, but I know the answer to that. It’s what happens when you were raised to be scared of everything. To fear the unknown instead of looking forward to it with excitement and optimism.
I close my eyes and I see him as I always do, only this time, the man of my dreams has a name now.
Trevor.
I try to block him out, especially since I’m certain he’s unattainable. When I know I messed up the small, slither-of-a-chance I had with him. You never get a second chance to make a first impression. That’s what they say and that truth rings loud and clear to me now.
I blow a breath of agony. “Oh, well, Elsie, let it go. Put on your big girl panties and move on with life. There will be other Trevor Myersons.”
No. No, there won’t be. Who am I kidding? Trevor was ‘that’ guy. There was no way I’d ever run into another man who was as handsome and as charming as him.
A girl could only dream…