What I mean is… oh hell! I don't know what I mean."
I knew I was blushing and I didn't know where to look or what to do with my hands.
I dropped a fork, and when I tried to retrieve it, I knocked over a glass of water and it spilled on her dress.
Suddenly, I had become clumsy and awkward again, and when I tried to apologize I found my tongue had become too large for my mouth.
"That's all right, Charlie," she tried to reassure me.
"It's only water. Don't let it upset you this way."
In the taxi on the way home, we were silent for a long time, and then she put down her purse and straightened my tie and puffed up my breast pocket handkerchief.
"You were very upset tonight, Charlie."
"I feel ridiculous."
"I upset you by talking about it. I made you self-conscious."
"It's not that.
What bothers me is that I can't put into words the way I feel."
"These feelings are new to you.
Not everything has to… be put into words."
I moved closer to her and tried to take her hand again, but she pulled away.
"No, Charlie.
I don't think this is good for you.
I've upset you, and it might have a negative effect."
When she put me off, I felt awkward and ridiculous at the same time.
It made me angry with myself and I pulled back to my side of the seat and stared out the window.
I hated her as I had never hated anyone before—with her easy answers and maternal fussing.
I wanted to slap her face, to make her crawl, and then to hold her in my arms and kiss her.
"Charlie, I'm sorry if I've upset you."
"Forget it."
"But you've got to understand what's happening."
"I understand," I said, "and I'd rather not talk about it."
By the time the cab reached her apartment on Seventy-seventh Street, I was thoroughly miserable.
"Look," she said, "this is my fault.
I shouldn't have gone out with you tonight."
"Yes, I see that now."
"What I mean is, we have no right to put this on a personal…emotional level.
You have so much to do. I have no right to come into your life at this time."
"That's my worry, isn't it?"
"Is it? This isn't your private affair any more, Charlie.
You've got obligations now—not only to Professor Nemur and Dr. Strauss, but to the millions who may follow in your footsteps."
The more she talked that way, the worse I felt.
She highlighted my awkwardness, my lack of knowledge about the right things to say and do.
I was a blundering adolescent in her eyes, and she was trying to let me down easy.
As we stood at the door to her apartment, she turned and smiled at me and for a moment I thought she was going to invite me in, but she just whispered:
"Good night, Charlie.
Thank you for a wonderful evening."
I wanted to kiss her good night.
I had worried about it earlier.
Didn't a woman expect you to kiss her?
In the novels I'd read and the movies I'd seen, the man makes the advances.
I had decided last night that I would kiss her.
But I kept thinking: what if she turns me down?
I moved closer and reached for her shoulders, but she was too quick for me. She stopped me and took my hand in hers.
"We'd better just say good night this way, Charlie.
We can't let this get personal. Not yet."