First Impressions

I was walking along the street, humming quietly to myself, and I walked into something. Normally, this sort of thing didn't happen; I was walking on the sidewalk. But what was it I'd walked into? I took a brief moment to register the impact and ruled out a few suspects: it wasn't a parking meter, my street didn't have any, not to mention the object was taller than a parking meter; and certainly it was not a fire hydrant; it wasn't colored red.1

I hadn't looked up yet, and was considering what I'd walked into. "Hi," it spoke, "I haven't met you yet." Well, this certainly was interesting. I took a moment to consider this statement, and looked up further - it was a girl, and she appeared to be about 16. Now that we'd been awkwardly standing there for the better part of five seconds, she spoke again, "What's your name?" That question registered in my basic vocabulary, and I was able to utter a response. "Tim," I said, "Tim Levett." Again a pause began, and again she broke it. "Well, I'm sorry I walked into you - I wasn't looking where I was going." I thought hard for a moment, and gave a brief reply, "Oh, that's okay, neither was I."2

At this point, I became aware of more than her speech - I conspicuously looked her face over - observed her brown eyes, brown hair, and decided that was enough for now, it was time to speak more. "You said you hadn't met me yet. You new here?" I stumbled forth with more inept speech. "Yes," she said, "I just moved in here this morning. This box I'm carrying-"3

At this point, I decided to look at the box she was carrying. It was brown - this didn't surprise me - but on the side that was facing me, right next to what next to what seemed to be a coffee or water stain, the appellation was inscribed "Katie". I now tuned back into her speech - "is for our new house down the block." I looked at the house she indicated with her free hand, and I remembered a conversation I'd had with my mother - she'd said the Cressida family was moving into the house down the block. At this point, I decided to put two and two together and make three. "So, that makes you Katie Cressida.", I surmised. She gave me an odd look, and I got that sinking feeling one does when they put two and two together and get three. "Actually," she replied, with just a hint of irk in her voice, "Katie is my sister."4

I took a moment to fully comprehend what I'd just done. I had walked into a girl, almost caused her to drop her box, and now I was mixing her up with a sister I hadn't met. I truly am an idiot. I thought this to myself a few thousand times, and then decided to listen further for her real name.5

"My name's Liz." I rolled this around in my head for a few moments. Liz Cressida. It had a nice ring to it. Liz Cressida. On the other hand, it sounded rather a real estate agent's name. Liz Cressida. I decided in the end that I liked the name, despite its intrinsic flaws. Then, I decided to apologize for my hastiness as best I could.6

"Oh, I'm sorry. It says Katie on the box." She looked puzzled for a moment, and I once again developed the same sinking feeling, though not as much this time, since this was something I knew I couldn't have misread. Could I have misread it? She put my fears to rest by saying, "Oh, that's on your end. My end says Elizabeth."7

Who would've thought I made so much of a perspective mistake? Not she. "Well," she said, "I ought to keep unpacking." I decided to take a brave action. "Sure, sure. So, anyway, once you're all unpacked, maybe you'd like to come over, I can show you the neighborhood." 8

As I said this, I visualized the two ways this could go. On one hand, she could think I'm a creep and we'd spend the next several days not talking to each other. On the other hand, she could accept. This was what I was already planning for - which made it all the better when at last something in the past 30 seconds went correctly. "Sure, I'd love to." I nearly jumped at this idea - now my morning would be enlivened with the possibility of making a new friend. "Great! My house is the one right over there." I indicated it with my free hand, and I observed her make a quick mental note of it. "Alright," she said, "that sounds fun. See you later."9

We walked in our separate directions and on the way back, I ran through the encounter in my head and decided that maybe humming quietly to yourself isn't so bad after all.