Tangled Hair by Dashiell Crevel

 
    Fiona stared out of the window onto the rainy street. The summer rain came every afternoon in regular intervals and yet somehow she felt that today would be different—John, her date, would be coming over soon and she didn’t want him to get soaked. She was always the type to hope, and keep on hoping, even if her expectations rarely came true.
    While she waited for John her mind drifted off to other matters. She hoped painting, her hobby, would somehow turn into a full-time career. Just last week her art had been featured in a local exhibit, giving her a glimmer of hope. She remained cautious though with her hopes for the future. Over the years she realized how easily she got lost in dreams just to feel the eventual tug of reality pulling her back down.
    She hoped for the best tonight. They hit it off really well during their first date—the typical safe-ground with dinner and a movie. She looked back on the highlights of their dinner conversation that last Tuesday. John made her laugh and forget how quickly the time had passed. There was something in her that wanted to experience those emotions all over again. Looking out the window at the rain seemed to bring out the desire of being next to someone, cuddling up with them and enjoying the grey weather together.
    So far the pieces fit between them, but over the last year Fiona learned to be just as careful with her expectations as she was with her hopes. After a string of hopeless dates and repeated disappointments she locked her heart aw ay behind an iron gate that somehow this stranger had easily unlocked.
    John had the kind of manner she enjoyed being around . He was easy to talk to and didn’t hesitate to laugh at her jokes. And he didn’t take himself seriously even though he had a serious career—he worked as an airline pilot.
    With the cyclical nature of his work he had the next t hree months off, so he asked if he could see her again soon. Of course, that was if she wanted to go on another date.
    She set the date at seven o’ clock on a Friday evening. Friday came much quicker than she expected and now that she had finished getting ready an hour early, she sat by the window, with little to do but wait, taking turns flipping through a magazine and staring at the rain.
     
    ~*~
     
    John looked back into the rear-view mirror at the long line of cars behind him. Up ahead police lights flashed. An accident and a traffic jam. Running late to his date with Fiona, watching the emergency vehicles zoom past, made him realize being late was not as bad as getting into an accident. The roads were slippery, and minutes earlier he had hydroplaned by rushing around a corner.
    He was always doing things in a hurry. Often he would have to tell himself to slow down, to take an extra breath. As with most things, if he paced himself he sti ll would get to his destination instead of hurrying and loosing track of his goal.
    Plus it was better on the nerves. Although he often rationalized to himself the process of slowing down, at thirty-two years of life, he found himself caught in the middle of a life that was moving at an ever-increasing pace.
    Flying airplanes full time was stressful. The hurried pace of the lifestyle, with the no-room for error mentality, carried over into his daily life. He reminded himself that he wasn’t up in the air anymore. Here on the road, different rules applied along with a different kind of focus.
    Sitting in traffic, slowly cra wling behind the cars, his thoughts drifted off to Fiona. He had only known her for a week but for some reason it seemed much longer than that. He was comfortable with her personality. They liked the same things, enjoyed the same kind of humor. They shared the type of compatibility that made the rest of the world dissolve and momentarily exist just for two people.
    At least, that’s h ow he felt on their first date. And when he asked her if he could see her again he noticed a sparkle in her eyes that made his heart