We step out of her house quickly. The movie starts in a few short minutes, and I don�t even know how far we are from the theater.

I can tell she's nervous, so I mask my own fluttery butterflies with a veil of complete ease. I�m trying to be overly comfortable in efforts to keep this thing completely carefree and casual. Carefree and casual. Just two friend going to see a movie together.

We jump in her Tercell and speed up the road.

I can tell she is an antsy driver. She weaves around and through the other cars, all the while bemoaning the poor skills of the other motorists, but at no time do I feel unsafe.

Suburban rows become open fields. We pass cows and goats, making small talk all the way. I spend most of the time looking at her. Last time I saw her, she was a flaxen blonde with pale creamy skin. This time her flesh is tanned with caramel warmth, her hair a deep ashy brown with two blonde highlights framing her face.

Every once in a while, she notices my gaze and gets overly self-conscious.

Eventually we find ourselves circling the theater parking lot, in search for an open spot. With the small details all in place, we rush to the box office.

I try to buy her ticket, but we end up going dutch. This is not a date.

As soon as the previews start, I rush out and get us a gigantic bucket of popcorn and two towering sodas. I smile as I walk up the stairs towards her. This is not a date.

Lights down, roll opening credits.

I steal a few glances at her during the film. She is nothing short of mesmerizing and her eyes are far more beautiful then anything on the screen. Her newly acquired glasses only make her more adorable.

About halfway through the movie, Cameron Diaz is making a fool of herself and Gretchen starts eating popcorn. A kernel here, a kernel there.

I smile to myself.

People who have suffered from eating disorders understand what a huge deal it is to actually eat in front of someone. To those of us who have no attachment to food, it's alien to think that the simple act of eating could create such anxiety in a person. Even though it is dark and we're not sitting in front of each other, she is actually eating around me for the first time.

I notch that as one more victory.

Roll ending credits, lights up.

We make small talk on the way to her car and then drive back to her house. The entire time I'm resisting the urge to touch her in some way. A simple hand on her knee, a friendly caress of her shoulder.

I come in her house to get a glass of water and hang out for a few moments. We both have places to go tonight, but I've still got a few minutes before I have to go.

She shows me her room. There's a shelf overflowing with books, a couple of Ani Difranco posters, and a wide selection of cosmetic products. Taped up on one wall, there's a Xeroxed article from some newspaper. The headline says something to the effect of �Teens speak out on TV violence�. She is quoted frequently and there is a large photograph of her and a friend featured on the second panel.

There are all the little knickknacks one would expect, a dresser overflowing with clothes, and a pile of fashionable shoes. I don't even get to see where she keeps her 72 pairs of jeans or her limitless collection of shirts.

Then I notice it.

Right above her daybed, taped up on her wall is a print out of a small, meaningless short story I wrote her over a year ago. I don't mention it, and neither does she, but we both know it's there. A tiny piece of me, taped right above the place she sleeps.

She wants to smoke one last cigarette before I go. I step out on her porch and sit on the couch, leaving a space next to me. She elects for a chair a few feet away.

I'm not sure exactly which one of us is more standoffish. We chat for a few more minutes and I find myself completely perplexed. I don�t know if it�s her mood, or the day, but I can�t seem to get a feel on her.

All I sense is distance.

The time comes and it's finally time for me to leave. We say a few awkward parting words and I offer her a hug. She is almost surprised, but accepts it immediately. We encircle our arms around each other, slowly and timidly. Then I feel her melt.

Her arms are holding me, firmly and lovingly. Our heads sink into each other�s shoulders and we just stand there, as one. In a moment of unfortunate timing, her mother interrupts us just as we�re getting comfortable with each other. "Honey, your cell phone is ringing"

It�s a friend calling to solidify their plans for the evening.

I thank her for her company and excuse myself, there are a few awkward moments as I am leaving. She suddenly turns extremely goofy and self-conscious before offering me a few motherly parting words.

I promise to wear my seatbelt and get home safe.

With a deep sigh, I smile at her one last time as she�s sitting on her porch, then I get in my car and drive back to Washington.