FEAR AND YEARNING.

        “so what’s it like being another year older?” the question comes after an eager spoonful of gelato. hugo sits across from spencer in a patio table outside the shop, thoroughly enjoying the dessert he’d been reluctant about only minutes prior. he’s not big on sweets, never has been. he’ll take greasy and cheesy and savory, but sugary is where he draws the line. usually, when spencer’s birthday rolls around, he sticks to pizza or diners and gifts her a couple of books he thinks she’d like. sometimes video games, too. despite knowing she’s a fan of gelato, he’s never taken her out for the treat until now. he’s more than a little surprised to find he actually likes it.

“shell phones — ” spencer’s squint isn’t so different from her glower; vexation settles between brows when she sighs; eyes trail back to the bottle. there might be enough in there, sitting at the bottom, to get her through this. “ — okay, that one didn’t make me want to vomit instantly so congrats.” this could be considered a small victory but a victory nonetheless.

another fry is stolen… then another. “consider it payment for my pain and suffering.” a laugh escapes — a genuine one — as she chews. despite the terrible puns, she couldn’t imagine a great road trip adventure without him. “you’re lucky i love you, hugo.”

that only makes his smile widen even more—which, quite honestly, should be impossible. but here he is, widening that smile and showing off those pearly whites, because guess what! he is lucky—spencer loves him! and sure, he’s known this for a while now, maybe even throughout all their years of friendship, but it’s nice to hear it out loud. also, the fact that she didn’t straight out tell him the pun sucks doesn’t help matters. this smile is going to be permanent.

she’s chugging a beer that is almost too warm to drink but refuses to let it go to waste; totally taking advantage of riding shotgun. “hmm —” there’s a pause to hum before stealing one of his fries, more than amped for this roadtrip. just the two of them.

a small sigh escapes once she realizes what’s coming next. finishing the bottle, a wary look is thrown in his direction; awaiting the inevitable. “— i dunno. how do turtles communicate?”

he narrows his eyes at the stolen fry, but makes no move to call her out on it. this is spencer we’re talking about here. road trip partner, bad pun tolerater. she can steal all the fries she wants—so long as she doesn’t literally steal all of them.

he settles on a warm enough fry, trying to fight back a grin as he chews. mouth closed, of course—he’s not a heathen. after a handful of seconds he’s drumming his fingers against the tabletop, leaning back in his booth and openly beaming at the woman across from him, as if he’s about to deliver the best pun this diner has ever heard. (and for the record, he is.)

he’s graduating from syracuse university with honors (summa cum laude)

he was accepted into nyu’s mfa program in creative writing

he’s preparing to move to new york city in the fall

this summer he’ll be participating in a editorial internship at syracuse university press

he’s finally letting his hair grow long enough to slightly cover his eyes

you are an infp, the idealist:  You are a creative person with a great imagination. You enjoy living in your own inner world. Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships. It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close to you. But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop. In love, you tend to have high (and often unrealistic) standards. You are very sensitive. You tend to have intense feelings. At work, you need to do something that expresses your personal values. You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist.

how you see yourself: Unselfish, empathetic, and spiritual.

reluctance keeps him silent. he hates it, this, sitting on park benches with strangers. it makes him feel like he ought to say something, cut the tension he’s built up in his mind and start a conversation. problem is, he’s tired of using cliches. talking about weather, talking about politics, talking about subjects everyone else in existence has already covered a dozen times. so he stays quiet, mulling over his options before creativity strikes and he's glancing toward the woman beside him.

there’s a distinct lack of hesitation before he's grinning against the kiss. in fact, the short span of seconds between her lips touching his and the first etch of his growing grin is almost alarming. not that he’s paying it any attention. all thoughts are forfeit, he’s left only with a bright buzzing in his mind that becomes softer and softer before it suddenly stops, and melts.

maybe he arrived here with the intention of asking her on a date, maybe he has an essay due this weekend, maybe his name is hugo moore. he can’t remember. right now, this moment is the beginning and end of his existence.

when he reaches that final chapter and his life flashes before his eyes, will he only see a montage of his kisses with her? god, he can only hope so.

     “how ‘bout a game of twenty-one questions?” hardly a game, asking each other questions, but it’s better than taking the honest approach and saying, ‘hey, why don’t we take turns asking questions because i don’t know how the hell to initiate a conversation otherwise’, though being honest is still more appealing than letting the silence between them linger.