meeting someone - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Meeting someone new is a divine pleasure. Regardless of how things turn out, I love the dance that begins. The most important idea is to be able to get a true feeling for who they are over a few weeks and months without ever forming an opinion of them. You let them develop as a old polaroid photograph, nice and slow. Perhaps they are a life long friend, a lovable rouge or a person too damaged to give in an emotionally warm and nurturing way. So, my new friend, all I can say is I am glad we met.
The house is one of those ones rich people buy when they get paranoid about having too much money. It's like a fortress, tall gates with more security gadgets than a military compound. Perhaps behind those yellow bricks they feel safe from harm, but I can't help think they've only built themselves a beautiful prison. Either way though, it's none of my concern, I'm just here for the political endorsement Mr. Holden wants. So with a quick check of my hired suit I lean into the intercom and state my business. In moments a security guard is striding over the pea shingle, each footfall marked with a crunch. His weapon is holstered but his face is still serious. This is where he takes my identification and runs background checks.
His cowboyish gait was at odds with the Savile Row suit. There was a casualness to it that wasn't quite right in cloth so crisp. All that was missing was the gun and ten gallon hat. When he opened his mouth it was with New York accent and the hand he offered to shake was manicured to perfection, the skin softer than a baby girl's. His face was one of upmost confidence, whatever game this man played he wasn't accustomed to loosing. He smiled like a long lost brother and shook Ryan's hand warmly with the perfect squeeze and eye contact. Ryan reciprocated, but never would he trust a man so perfect, as far as he was concerned the more perfect the image the greater the danger underneath. Everyone has flaws and quirks, if they had been polished right out then trust wasn't even an option.
On the wall that has been crumbling these past twenty years, Toby sits, letting his eyes roam over the graffiti. With the finger of his right hand he feels the cracks and the pits made by so many seasons of hail and rain. Today, like the sidewalk weeds, they are dry. His left hand tightens involuntarily around the candy bars, making the wrappers crinkle. They had seemed like such a great idea in the store, something they had eaten when they were kids, back when they were just two spotty teens throwing aeroplanes at the back of class. What if in the last two decades she'd become someone else, prim and well-to-do? For all her antics, Gale was the smart one. What if she just looks at them like they're cheap candy and chocolate. Come to think of it they're kind of hard to chew and they make a mess. Before he can stow them behind the wall he hears her, "Toby! Is that Curly Wurly's?! Awesome!" It's Gale, an older version, but still in jeans, casual, smiling...
He saw the shock register on my face before I could hide it. A small smile played on his lips, I guess he gets that a lot. It wasn't what he said though, his words were like vanilla pudding, sweet in their ordinary sort of way, it was the richness of his tones – luxurious and warm. He must be a baritone in church. I'm glad I saw him before I heard his voice, I'd never have put the two of them together otherwise. I bet he gets that a lot, clients walking in and looking for a bigger guy. Not that he's unusually tiny, its just that if I bought him a sweater it would be a small and still fit generously.
"Wher are you going?" I ask before I could stop myself. His head cocked to the side, his eyes shifting from the ground to me. My heart stopped and I could barely breathe. All I could manage was a "Just wonering." Before my heart completely stopped. "I'm guessing you need a ride?" His voice was soft-spoken and mellow, sending a warm glow throughout my body. "How do you know?"
"I saw your face." He motions me towards the passengers seat and unlocks the car. "What's your name?" I ask when we were on the road. "Nyx."
"Cute name." I smiled shyly.
Ivan stood on top of the clumps, two windswept mounds of earth and grass elevated to legendary status amid the surrounding flat farmland. Roland had cheated of course, to this one-on-one meeting he had two goons to pat him down and remove any gadgets to a safe distance away. After passing the detectors over every inch they took his cell phone, placed it in a lead box and retreated to the base of the hills. Ivan swallowed hard. No phone meant no secret transmission of the conversation to his supporters, but there was no such restriction on Roland. As the early October wind bit at his face his adversary greeted him warmly, maximum charm, like he did on every podcast from his never-disclosed location. His audience was listening and to them Ivan was the enemy.
Glancing at the man who was two decades older than his public persona, the cell phone was easy to spot. It wasn't wafer thin like the popular models, but almost as large as the 1980's early "brick types" everyone laughed at. This wasn't simply a phone, it was the latest in mobile broadcasting. The superior sound quality gave an impression authority - an essential tool in the war of rhetoric that was the new age. The smart money was in guns, bombs and misinformation - with Roland the star of the show...
The tinkle of glass on glass as Ella mixes her cocktail is lost under saxophone notes that jump and dance in the smoky cavern. Her dress hangs from her shoulders, hugging her form as she stares at swirling liquor. When she raises heavily made up eyes at the man taking the stool next to hers, I know the movie has really begun. She fixes him in a look that would make any character other than our hero shrivel. He meets her gaze with the smile of one who knows the upper hand is his and lights up a cigarette to add to the hazy cloud, lingering, spiralling in stagnant air. She folds one leg over the other, dangling her high heel, showing more leg; yet her face stays aloof, disinterested. It's a film noir “stand off” of sexual power...
Patterson slunk into the bar. After crawling the internet for "Where to meet girls" and "dating tips" he'd hit upon this place. Apparently this is hole had more underage girls getting sloshed than any other and he figured sober wasn't his ally. From her corner he watched, his neck goosing from side to side, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed excessive spittle. He had to time it just right. She had to be drunk first.
After a time he spotted a small red-head in a tight dress, not particularly developed but definitely female. Her older friend headed to the ladies room and he made his move, attempting to look casual. Patterson bumped right into her and then apologized, using his hands to wipe her front and offering to take her outside to help clean up. His research suggested that a meeting that surprised the other person was more powerful than something subtle...
Meeting friends online was a step up from conversations with the mirror but not much. Every group self selected to become a crazy echo chamber. There was no loyalty, no real life connection, yet everyone craved it like a drug. If you didn't have insane amounts of "likes" who were you anyway?
Gordon described his strategy for meeting women in such clinical terms. To him it was a science and a sport. He got to be the hunter with designer clothes instead of a rifle. Family life was for idiots and love for twerps who should know better. The sexes had always been at war and he was going to be the winner.
I was breathing heavily. Not from the heat or fatigue, not from lack of physical capability. From fear. Genuine fear. I stood at the top of my hill in the cool midnight air, knowing that if my family found out what I was doing, they'd most definitely slaughter me. Me, a 16 year old child was meeting a 22 year old man from the internet. He had parked his car at the bottom of the hill, but no doubt couldn't see me due to the lack of light. The wind gently brushed my hair and grazed my face, almost soothingly. This is what I needed though, some adventure. Some risk. Some danger. I began walking, taking one ragged breath after another, my shaking legs putting on a strong facade. What was I doing? I approached the corner at the bottom of the hill and slowed my pace, peering round a hedge just enough to see a short, obese man with long greasy hair. I think it was grey. This was not the man I saw in the pictures. The man in the pictures was a young, athletically built man with short blonde hair. After I had put the pieces together, the fear kicked in at an overwhelming rate, my heart pounding and my breaths hitching. Before I had time to run, he pulled out his phone and rang the number I gave him, my phone blaring out in the silence. Startled, he turned around to face the corner where I stood. He stopped the call and placed the phone back in his trousers. With a menacing grin, he showed his yellow, stained teeth, holding out his arms expecting an embrace. I couldn't run now. He knew where I lived. After I remained standing there, he angrily dropped his arms to his sides, discontinued that grin and opened the passenger side door to his car.