First Impression
/I couldn’t believe that it was snowing, on today of all days, not just a few fluffy flakes, but a full-fledged storm. A white blanket coated the road, and I had already shovelled a drift in front of the garage. I half-hoped that Scott would contact me to call off our date, but it was only a small hope. I couldn’t wait to see him in person for the first time. We had met online and hit it off in our initial few messages via the site.
Meeting a fellow geek, one who also was a developer, was unusual, and meeting one with so much in common akin to finding a unicorn. It had only happened twice in the two years I had been using online dating, and the actual dates had lacked chemistry. I was hoping that this third time would be the charm; another year of online dating would suck my soul dry. Well, not really. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers—my co-workers don’t call me “calm Katie” without reason—and I have been in the dating scene long enough to ride its waves without fuss. However, despite how I seem, I’m a romantic at heart and would like to settle down one day. The only reason the first date with Scott hadn’t yet occurred, after three weeks, was aligning our schedules. Today that would all change, and no amount of stupid snow was going to prevent it.
Given the snow, I decided to dress in pants—not jeans, but a grey twill work pair—and forego wearing a skirt. I wanted to impress Scott, but not at the expense of my comfort. The wind was really blowing outside, and a skirt was not going to cut it. Likewise, although I wanted to wear my long hair down, I knew that after time in the wind and my hat, it was going to look like hell, so I opted to pull it back in a simple braid instead. Rather than my usual bare face, I took the time to put on a light dusting of make-up; liner to shape my lips a bit fuller, filled in with a slightly darker lipstick than my natural lip colour (nothing too slutty though), eyeliner in a slightly mauve-brown shade that made my green eyes pop, and brown mascara to accent the length of my near-invisible lashes. A bit of eye make-up always helped make my eyes look a bit larger behind the concave lenses of my glasses. Finally, I was ready to head out to the Chinese restaurant where we had agreed to go for our first date. I was pleased to see I had ample time still, as driving across the city was going to be slow with the snow.
Scott hadn’t contacted me to cancel, so I put on my warmest coat, even though it wasn’t flattering on me (it was an off-white down parka that made me look like a dirty version of the Michelin tire man), slipped on my rugged winter hiking boots, and headed to my car. Opening the garage door from within my small, all-wheel drive, I frowned on seeing the drift was back, almost as high as before. Sighing, I left my car idling to warm its interior as I again pulled the shovel out of the garage and worked at clearing away the snow. My cotton blouse, underneath my knit vest and coat, started to stick to my skin, and I could feel small trickles of sweat slip between my breasts. Finishing, I climbed back into the car and gingerly entered the whiteness.
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Visibility was horrible, and the roads a real mess of drifted precipitation and slushy ruts where the few cars that dared to venture out had passed before me. It took all my concentration to navigate and hold my car in the middle of where I thought the lane might be, and I was driving slowly to ensure I allowed myself time and space to stop at each intersection. Suddenly, rushing towards me out of the blankness of the blowing snow, a truck appeared in my lane. I slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel, hard, to the right. My car’s anti-lock brakes kicked in, and my car slid gracefully into the slushy snowbank at the side of the road, narrowly avoiding the oncoming truck. The impact wasn’t enough to trigger the airbags, but the close call left me shaking and breathing rapidly in my seat, hands still clenching the wheel. I struggled to compose myself, and after several minutes, I put my car in reverse to back out of the snowbank.
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The tires spun, and the car’s engine whined, but it didn’t budge. My shoulders slumped, and my breath whooshed out in frustration. Still, this was part of the reason why I had left time to get to the restaurant, and after pulling my hat down to fully cover my ears, and ensuring my gloves fitted tightly to the cuffs of my coat, I opened my car door and stepped out into the storm to inspect my situation.
The nose of my car lay buried, not too deeply, in the snow, and all four wheels seemed to be on the ground, so at least they should be able to get traction. I slowly made my way around the vehicle, stooping at each tire to clear away the snow from around it with my gloved hands. My gloves grew wet with the slush I was removing, chilling my hands. Shivering, I started back around my car and promptly slipped and fell, landing in the slush at the foot of the snowbank. The wet quickly penetrated through my pants as I regained my feet, and I brushed myself off as best I could before I re-entered my car.
After a few back-and-forths between drive and reverse, I managed to get my vehicle out of the snow, and continued to the restaurant, only a few minutes late. Hurrying inside, I caught sight of myself in the mirror in its entrance and gaped. My hair was fraying from its braid, and my mascara was running below my eyes. Slightly drying salt stains highlighted the wet patches on my pants. My blouse stuck to my arms, where I was still damp with sweat. I almost ran back to the safety of my car, but I really wanted to see at least whether Scott was everything in person that he seemed from our online interactions. My gaze darted around the interior of the restaurant. There were no other patrons present, just the waitstaff looking expectantly at me. I asked for a table, figuring that my first impression might be slightly better if Scott could only see part of me, and I waited.
Ten minutes crawled by, then twenty. After thirty, I started to think I had been stood up, and I was growing uncomfortable with the slightly pitying looks the staff were throwing my way. A draft of frigid air hit my bouncing legs under the table, and I saw that someone had entered the restaurant, the front door letting in the wind and a bit of snow. All I could see from where I sat was a bundled figure, but then the individual removed their hat and undid their coat, and I could see it was a man.
He caught sight of me, waved a gloved hand in greeting, and called out, “Kate!”
It had to be Scott. My stomach knotted as I watched him approach the table, and as he drew nearer, my eyes widened. Water dripped from his gloves. His hair stuck damply to his head. Slush filled the creases in his coat, and damp salt stains marred his dress pants. He saw my stare, and hesitated, a flush creeping over his face. I slowly stood up from the table. His gaze gradually took in the dishevelled details of my appearance, his eyes widening. Then he smiled at me. I smiled back. Then we were both laughing uncontrollably.
Samantha Mason
Samantha has a love for all forms of speculative fiction across all media. Possessed of natural curiosity, Samantha enjoys learning and new experiences. Each new piece of knowledge or endeavour adds to who she is and how she sees the world. She is a firm believer that some of the most amazing experiences and events could even be in your backyard (figuratively, if not literally).
