A Day Out For A Picnic

Emma Wilson threw her basket down on the grass and whimpered. It was a warm Wednesday afternoon in August and the stall selling freshly cooked pretzels was only adding to her anxieties. Why on Earth would he have wanted assorted sandwiches from Walmart when there was the pretzel option only a metre away from their previously arranged location? She sat herself down and breathed deeply to create a calm and tranquil atmosphere for her inner being – or that’s what it was supposed to do anyway, according to her therapist. In and out, in and out. She waited attentively for her company for the afternoon feeling full up with self doubt. What if he didn’t like her food? Did the scarlet red dress look as though she had made too much of an effort? What if he realised that she wasn’t normal? She undid the buckle of her picnic basket and reached in to get the sandwiches. She had bought her favourite sandwiches: chicken with a light dusting of cheese. It was sure fire; he would love them.

She composed herself as she saw a tall figure walking towards her along the freshly mown grass of Central Park. It was lover boy. He was tall, tanned and tantalizingly beautiful. Her eyes rested upon a rugged bone structure, a killer jaw line and hard, angled cheekbones, all of which were softened by porcelain skin. He was a dream. Dexter had masculine, dark features that had combined beautifully to create his darling face. He had piercing blue eyes that, if you dared to look into them for too long, seemed to be able to see deep into your soul and hear all the things you wanted to, but daren’t say to him. As for the inside, he was a bundle of magnificent contradictions. He was arrogant, yet alluring. His voice was boisterous, yet enchanting. He was manly, yet dainty. His hair was equally as contradictory, it was delightfully chaotic. It looked black compared to his skin but if you looked really closely it was the same colour as the coffee sold in the pretty little cafe in Battery Park, next to the docks. Deep brown and warming. It stuck up at all the wrong angles, it was an abundance of mess, but it was a masterpiece. He was a masterpiece. As the masterpiece approached, Emma’s face flushed to the shade of her dress.

‘Emma, young lady,’ he said as a smirk spread across his perfectly symmetrical face. ‘Fancy seeing you here. Ah, I see you’ve brought our sustenance for the afternoon.’ He gave her a cheeky wink. She felt her heart melt like marshmallows in hot chocolate. She stood up, put on a well practiced smile and told him that it was nice to see him. Nice wasn’t even the word. She was delighted to be graced by his presence but, of course, she wouldn’t tell him that.

‘So what’s on the menu this afternoon, darling?’ He questioned arrogantly.

‘Chicken sandwiches,’ she said definitely, feeling confident for the first time that afternoon. She was unsure about everything else: her attire, their location, the pretzels but she just knew that the sandwiches were the right move.

‘Buttered?’ He asked casually. She thought this question were odd, she shook her head and stated that she’d never been one for butter. This seemed to please him; he smiled widely displaying perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. He was like something out of a magazine. They ate as they immersed themselves in polite small talk, discussed current affairs and exchanged flirtatious comments, laughing at each other’s jokes like tinkling bells. All was well.

Dexter brushed a stray hair out of Emma’s face: they looked into each other’s eyes and held each other’s gaze. A combination of nerves and excitement filled the pair down to their very cores, leaving them with a feeling so high they never wanted it to stop. It was a rollercoaster rush. Lingering in the moment, they tilted their heads awkwardly and slowly planted a kiss on each other’s lips. Gently, Emma pulled away, held on to his gorgeous head of hair, gazed at his perfect face in awe and went in for another, but this time it was longer, harder and more passionate. Dexter tightened his grip; Emma thought he was just getting caught up in the moment until she noticed his gasping and spluttering. She could see the panic in his gorgeous eyes. He gagged slightly and quickly asked her through gasp and splutter what was in the sandwiches.

‘Chicken with a seasoning of thyme and a light layer of local mature cheddar,’ she replied nervously. He gave her one, long dismayed look and urged her to call an ambulance. Emma, in a state of alarm, was utterly shell-shocked. What had she done to her dream man? Surely she wasn’t that bad a kisser? She remembered what her therapist had taught her: shut eyes, breathe in, breathe out, happy thoughts, tranquil setting, happily ever after story. As she regained composure, her date was still sat there hyperventilating. She grabbed her phone and hastily dialled ‘911’. Her voice appeared husky as she sobbed, ‘Ambulance please.’

When they arrived at Uptown Manhattan Hospital, Dexter had been unconscious for what seemed like an eternity. The long, nerve-wracking wait amongst the rush of nurses, surgeons and patients drove Emma to a panic. She was so sure that she had made the right decision with the chicken and cheese sandwiches; little did she know he was lactose intolerant. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach but in Dexter’s case, it was the way to his grave.