A Second Chance at a First Impression

Three days later and I still couldn’t get Brendon off of my mind. I had to tell him. Every time I so much as looked at Oli I was reminded of Brendon – they looked so much alike.

To try and take my mind off of it, I took Oli for an ice cream again.

“Mommy, at school yesterday, I learnt a song!” Oli said proudly, puffing out his chest.

“You did?” he nodded at me, “Well, can you sing it for me then?”

“I’m a little teacup short and stout, this is my handle, this is my spout…” he began doing the actions, grinning while he was singing. He was able to hold the tune really well as he sung, another trait he had obviously inherited from his musical genius of a father.

I gave him a kiss on the forehead, “That was brilliant baby!”

“Thank you mommy,” he smiled. I was pleased he knew to say thank you. That was one of things I was constantly worried about, I wanted to raise him properly, I wanted him to grow up and be a good citizen, I wanted him to be a good person. And every single day I wondered if I was doing a good job, I would never be able to forgive myself if I failed him.

“Here you go honey,” I said bending over to hand him his ice cream as we stood by the counter. I took his free hand and led him over to the same booth we’d sat in a few weeks earlier. However, this time, because it was the middle of a very hot summer’s day in New York, the shop was bustling with people.

I held Oli’s hand tightly, not wanting to lose him amongst the people.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry little buddy.” I heard a man’s voice say. I didn’t bother to turn, but as I kept going, I felt Oli stay still. I spun on my heels, to see a young man with brown hair, bending down wiping the ice cream off of Oli’s light green t-shirt.

“Oh honey. Let me get that.” I said to Oli, getting a napkin and dabbing at the sticky mess on his shirt. I gave the man who was also trying to help a mix between a dirty look and a look of thanks.

Once we’d cleaned his shirt off as much as we could, the man said “I’m so sorry.”

“Its fine, thank you for helping me clean him up, though.” Throughout the whole thing Oli had been great; he stayed still and didn’t squirm as we cleaned him.

“No, please let me buy him another ice cream to make up for it.” he pleaded, his brown eyes penetrating my own.

“Okay, thanks” he smiled in delight, “would you like a coffee or anything?”

“Yes please, we’ll be over there,” I pointed in the direction of the booth.

He nodded in confirmation before walking off to join the small queue for the cold, sugary mush.

“Mommy, am I getting another ice cream?” Oli asked quietly, his bottom lip quivering slightly. He was about to cry, I hated it when he cried.

I pulled him onto my lap, “Yes you are that nice man has gone to get you another one.”

I wiped away the few tears that had fallen with the pad of my thumb.

About 10 minutes later, the man reappeared, holding Oli’s ice cream in one hand and two coffees in the other.

“Here you go buddy,” he said passing Oli the cone and sliding me the Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“What do you say to…?” I asked the little boy who had already begun to devour the icy treat.

“Jon,” the man cut in.

“What do say to Jon?”

“Thank you Jon!” he called, through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful Oli,” I playfully scolded him.

He turned and looked behind him, noticing the lack of other seating options before asking, “Do you mind?” gesturing to the empty seat across from Oli and myself.

“Go ahead. Thank you for the drink.”

“It’s my pleasure. Sorry about the whole ice cream thing. I’ll buy him another t-shirt to replace that one.”

“Don’t be silly, it was an accident, plus he has enough clothes to last him a lifetime.”
Jon looked over at Oli, who was still engrossed in the ice cream, barely taking his eyes off of it for a second.

“He a very handsome boy, he really looks like someone I know…” Jon trailed off. As soon as he said that, I realised I’d seen him somewhere before. When I first saw him, I had an inkling that I’d met him before, but right then I realised, he was in Panic at the Disco, he was the bassist if I wasn’t mistaken.

“Aren’t you in Panic at the Disco?” I asked wearily, hoping I wasn’t wrong.

He smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips, “Yeah, I play the bass.”

“I saw you guys a few weeks ago, at the Roseland Ballroom.” I informed him.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed, “you guys were great.”

“Thank you,” he said, bowing his head, in a very shy stance.

“That’s it!” Jon shouted in triumph.

“That’s what?” I wondered aloud, utterly confused.

“He looks like Brendon, the lead singer of our band!” he exclaimed.

I blushed slightly, hoping he didn’t notice.

“What?” Jon said, noticing the pink temporarily staining my cheeks, “You don’t have a crush on him do you?” he teased.

“No, it’s just Brendon and I go way back.”

“Really?” he asked, curious as to whether I was actually telling the truth and I wasn’t just some crazy fan.

“Yeah, we used to go to school together, but then after school we lost contact, we got pretty close in that senior year.” I confided.

“Oh, yeah? What happened?” Jon said, cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

“What happened? Between us?” Jon nodded.

I didn’t say anything; I just looked towards Oli, who sat next to me, licking the ice cream that was dripping down the cone.