Revolutionary Hand Holding

Everything had been building up to this moment. Opposite of Anonymous stood the idol of his desire. Her name was Vlada, and with her old cap and frost-tipped ears, the catgirl appeared rather plain. She wasn't tall, or athletic, and whenever Anon saw her she was alone with her nose buried in one of the innumerable books she always carried with her in a great, overstuffed bag. Bulging with books of all sorts and sizes, it made her lean to one side from its weight. Despite those things, seeing her made Anon's heart race. What he liked about her was the captivating intensity that shown behind the round lenses of her spectacles whenever she was reading... whatever she was reading. For weeks he'd been working up the nerve to speak to her, and exactly what he'd say when he did. Now all the fantasies and preparation and possibilities had collapsed into this exchange--everything he'd ever thought about her, all the time he'd spent admiring her, everything laid right at her feet, along with a question that made his heart pound as he waited through long, agonizing seconds for the answer.

"No. Absolutely not. I will not date you."

He felt her rejection as a physical blow that struck him right below the ribs and sank down into his belly like a cold stone. His mouth dried and he felt his face flush. "O-oh," he stammered. In his heart of hearts he knew things would turn out this way. "That's... That's okay. I mean, I... I kind of expected it." He tried to smile as his hand rubbed bashfully at the back of his head. "I'm used to girls not liking me, you know? So, uh, thanks... thanks anyway I guess." He turned to leave, feeling innervated and deflated and embarrassed.

From behind crossed arms, the catgirl gazed at him skeptically. Her tail made a slight curve upward. "It's not because I don't like you, or anything like that." Anonymous's stomach flipped and he stopped, listening. Vlada swallowed and continued. "Boyfriends... Dating... I just don't want any part of it. It's a completely bourgeois distraction from revolutionary activity."

Revolutionary what? He was completely stumped. "'Boojwah?'" Anon's brows furrowed in confusion. "You mean, you're like... With other girls, or something, then?" he asked, making a bumping gesture with his hands.

It was Vlada's turn to blush. "That's none of your business!" she snapped as her hackles rose and her tail cut angrily through the air. "And 'bourgeois' doesn't mean that anyway! Don't you know anything about Marx? About the struggle between the classes? The bourgeoisie and the proletariat?!" With every question mark Vlada's voice rose in pitch. Anon shook his head slowly as his heart fluttered. That look was in her brown eyes again. Was this what she spent all her time reading about? What could possibly make her so impassioned? "No... I've never really heard of any of that before." Anonymous licked his lips and turned back towards the catgirl. "What is it? A 'bourgeoisie' I mean." Digging through her bag, Vlada grabbed a slender book and shoved it indignantly into his hands.

They talked for hours in the courtyard of the slowly emptying school. Eventually the sun began to set and when they were both locked out they walked together to the bus stop, talking late into the evening. Whenever they came to a new concept, Vlada would gesticulate emphatically. At times it was difficult to keep up, but Anon was so enthralled by her speech and so overwhelmed by the new things she was teaching him, and she so carried away by the torrent of revolutionary ideas and concepts that came flowing out of her, that neither of them seemed to notice as the last bus pulled out of the station for the evening. The two students talked on for another enthusiastic hour before finally coming to a rest at the empty bus stop.

The fervor in Vlada's eyes was still burning with a steady intensity. Anonymous didn't know it, but there was the faintest glow in his gaze now as well. They both smiled at each other and pinkness spread over their cheeks. "Oh man," remarked Anon, "it's gotten so late! I think we missed the last bus, too." Suddenly, the catgirl seemed to realize where she was and gasped in surprise when she looked at the small watch around her wrist.

"Damn, I guess I'll have to call for a ride..." Anonymous grabbed his phone from his pocket and began to thumb it open. Vlada's lips were pursed, her tail slowly waiving behind her as she looked away in thought. "Can you get a ride?" Her ears flattened and she seemed to deflate a little. "My older sister might've but... And my parents might, but I'll never hear the end of it." She hugged her bag to her chest and wrapped her brown tail protectively around herself. "I just know they'll take my books away if they have to come get me again." Anonymous looked from her down to his phone, and then slipped it back into his pocket. "This isn't the first time you've been stranded in town like this?" His companion shook her head. "Sometimes I get so caught up in what I'm reading or talking with people that I completely lose track of time." She turned her large brown eyes up to him, peeking out from over the rim of her glasses. "It's... not too often that I find people that are actually interested in what I have to say. When I do, I can get a little carried away." She averted her eyes from Anon's gaze. "I don't have very many comrades."

"Maybe... Could I walk you home, then?" Vlada's ears shot up and for a moment she gawked at him before her features took on a skeptical, wary set. "I told you," she said, "that I don't want a boyfriend." Anonymous took up the little book she had given him, and that they'd spent all evening discussing. In big, bold, red letters it read "THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO." With his thumb running across the letters, Anon replied, "I know. I think... that I understand what you mean, now. A little bit, at least." When he looked back up to her, the look of hard scrutiny had faded somewhat. "Can I walk you home, comrade?"

For a few moments the catgirl was silent. She seemed to be thinking to herself, and her tail waved slowly behind her. "...Alright." With a small grunt she hefted her bag full of books onto her shoulder. "Do you need to carry so many?" Vlada's ears twitched. "Theory is important. The weight of all these books remind me of how much I still have to learn." "Is there anything in them," ventured Anon, his heart fluttering, "that says comrades can't hold hands?"

The girl pursed her lips and was silent for a moment as she considered Anon. Her eyes flickered up and down as she looked him over, but when their eyes met her cheeks suddenly flamed scarlet and she looked away. "No," she mumbled, "I guess not." Slowly, she held out her hand. When he took it in his Vlada had to look away so he wouldn't see her smile.

All the way to Vlada's house, Anonymous was swimming through a sea of giddy feelings. Her hand was so soft in his--and small! He hadn't noticed before how delicate she was. When she was speaking to him about the Dictatorship of the Bourgeoisie or the plight of the common worker, she seemed to swell with revolutionary spirit, becoming larger than life. Now she just seemed like a quiet, bookish catgirl as they walked along together. The tips of her fingers where she held her books and turned the innumerable pages of obscure theory were slightly rough, and a gentle warmth seemed to flow from her hand into his. She spoke more about the State and private property and the nature of conflict between the classes, but Anonymous, despite his best efforts, couldn't concentrate on her words. His heart pounded with excitement in his breast. Sometimes he would see her glance over at him then quickly look away, and he could have sworn that in the light of the streetlamps he saw she was trying to suppress a smile. Their hands rested easily together, and whenever her thumb ran along his a pleasant tingling would crawl up his spine.

"Will you be okay from here?" Anon joshed as the pair stood on the sidewalk in front of Vlada's house. The short chain gate squeaked loudly as she closed it behind her and smiled to him, "I think I can manage."  For a moment they stood in silence before bidding one another a tentative good night. Anon watched as she walked up the narrow path to her front door. "H-hey, Vlada," he called gently. She stopped in the open door, looking back at him. For a moment he panicked as his mind raced to find the right words and for an instant terror gripped him when he realized that his mouth was moving without his brain knowing what it was saying. "Workers of the world, unite!"

Vlada's cheeks darkened as a broad, genuine smile spread over her lips. "Workers of the world, unite!" she quietly returned before shutting the door.

For a long while afterwards Anon stood at the edge of her yard, marveling at the evening he'd just experienced. Before tonight he had never heard the words 'vanguard party' or so much about imperialism and capitalism. It was so much to absorb, but he was preoccupied with other thoughts, too. He looked at the hand that had held the Vlada's. It still seemed to glow with the lingering warmth of her palm in his. Anon's thoughts swam with thoughts of classes and glasses as he relived the night over in his mind, and was only roused when his phone began to vibrate and chime loudly.

It was the alarm clock. He was supposed to be just getting up to get ready for school. "Oh shit!" exclaimed Anonymous as he looked down at the glowing screen. Panic shot through him for a moment before it subsided. Vlada would have go to school, too, he realized, and he already was dressed and had his bag. Probably he could find something to eat, then come back here...

As he looked up to Vlada's house a tremor of excitement rippled through his chest. He'd get to see her again soon, and she'd be able to teach him even more new, exciting things. "If comrades can hold hands... they can ride the bus together too, right?" he murmured to himself as he started off down the street.