"So much for initiative."

I just want you to know, I'm restless, but there isn't any rush. That's a promise for whatever a promise is worth to someone like you. You're the epitome of everything I haven't heard about. And, hell, I mean it when I say that. I could write a book about you, but there's no way I'd read it. I'm telling you, there's no way I could read it.

And like I said, I'm restless. If there's anything I want right now, it's to see you—it's for you to know, I want to see you.

A friend parks their car outside of my house. They beep and shout so I check the digital clock on the kitchen stove: 8:53 P.M.; I remember we were supposed to grab some food tonight, because, hey, it's a Friday. I'm jittery, restless, so I spring to my feet and grab my jacket and check my pockets for some cash. There's a paperclip, a dime, a couple nickels, and a dollar—she'll spot for me. She's good like that. I shake out my hair and slip on my shoes. I grab some gum and leaf through some old CD's to find some real loud shit because she just got her car and wants to break in the bass buffer in the back seat.

Like I said, she just got the car so we're pretty stoked. I jet out the front door and into her passenger seat. She tells me right off the bat she's feeling pizza and I'm not going to argue because I'm restless and nervy and, well, hungry. She grabs a CD, pops it in, and turns the volume dial until it can't turn anymore. The bass buffer checks out great, and we're ready to eat.

We laugh the whole way there and my mind is off of everything and everything is great. We get here within 10 minutes or so and by now I can't tell if whatever going on in my stomach is hunger or not, but I figure stuffing my face is the way to go. We get seated and laugh some more.

I've already got a problem when it comes to ordering food and hysterical laughter, so when our waitress gives us her "How're you's tonight?" with only three teeth intact, I can't control myself. I want to die right then and there.

I die right then and there.

I don't feel like an ass because the only thing I feel right now is an ecstatic, restless high and all I want is to see you. I'm not hungry. I'm starving. I'm starving for your smile and that's the only thing I can't have right now.

I'm in a pizza parlor.

My friend knows I'm bugging out so she asks me "What's up?" and I tell her the only thing you can really say in those instances: "Nothing." Of course, she knows something's up, so I go on to spill my discontented guts right there at table.

She's good with these kinds of things so after I'm done bitching I let her do most of the talking. She goes on and rambles about something she likes to call "initiative." I'm listening half heartedly because the other half of me wants to do back flips all the way to your house.

She tells me that I've got to stop waiting around expecting things to happen for themselves. She tells me I've got to stop screwing around dreading things to happen on their own. She tells me to suck it up and to take aim and to take charge and uses that word "initiative" fives times over again. My mind's still wandering off with whatever's going on in my stomach so I'm still not all there, but I get the point. I get it.

I get that we're losing touch, but the fact remains, we haven't even made contact. I get that if anybody's at fault here for letting something die that hasn't even lived yet, it's me. And according to her, it all boils down to "initiative."

"A girl likes a guy with initiative," she says, over and over.

I get that you've got options, but I'm just bouncing back. I can bullshit my way through love and back again but I've only made it here, to you, and I get that I'm letting something (or nothing) fall apart before I can even get my hands on it. I can break shit but you haven't given me the chance. I haven't given myself the chance.

I get all that. You're the epitome of everything I haven't heard about, and I'm sitting here in a goddamn pizza parlor doing nothing about it. I'm sitting here at a table with my best friend doing nothing about it.

A girl likes a guy with initiative, but I'm doing nothing about it.

And then you walk in.

And my pizza is done.

And you get seated.

And my waitress smiles (how she manages to do so with three teeth is beyond me).

And I consider initiative.

And you consider pepperoni or plain.

And I get up and tell my good friend I'll be right back.

I make my way to your table for two and disregard the macho meathead sitting opposite of you. You see me and smile and I swear my heart stops but I remember: initiative. You say "Hi" in the sweetest voice and I say "Hey" with a sarcastic ploy. You throw your arms open as if to suggest you wanted a hug but I know you want more, you just don't know how to show it.

You bat your eyes and I figure my chances.

And I kiss you on the lips.

And you smile, and I smile. And my heart starts back up again.

And the jock-jacketed, hair-slicked prick at your table for two gets up, pushes his chair in, and decks me right in the fucking teeth.

So much for initiative.