Akwardness never matures - Writers Forum

Welshscouser · 01-13-2005, 01:08 AM

After taking some great advice from someone in the writers block thread, thanks whoever it was, I came up with this. It's a story I cobbled together about a real girl I knew. This is actually one of the first stories I've written voluntarily, so im interested to hear how it goes down. I've barely edited this by the way. Also there's a few words near the end that may not be allowed, so sorry in advance if they aren't.

__________

Not many things can make me stop dead in the middle of a crowded street, pretty self concious at the best of times without looking like a weirdo in a packed city centre, but she manages to do the trick quite nicely. I pathetically cover my tracks by checking something in my bag and keep on walking, slower, not sure if I want to catch her eye or not. A quick glance every few seconds keeps me inconspicuos, sort of. Her hairs looking good, shoulder length gliding across her shoulders, the faintest hint of blond streaking across. But otherwise, she looks exactly the same, not a bad thing, maybe a bit older. The floor in front of me suddenly becomes very interesting. Flushed would be the best word. I can't see it, but no doubt my cheeks are bright scarlet, it feel like an oven already.

She's coming closer now, If I stared I can almost see the differing sizes of her ears, that imperfection she showed me in the romantic venue of a McDonalds drive-thru, that somehow made her more enduring than before. It occurs to me that back then I would be bricking it right about now. But that was then, this was a much changed man to the quiet, lovestruck teenager that fastened his attentions to this girl like velcro. Yep, much more mature these days. I have a beard. The lurch in my stomach and the heart pounding against my chest seems to suggest otherwise. Getting much closer now.

Almost involuntarily, with a sudden extra large thump in the throat area, my eyes skirt to her left hand. I usually do this with every girl I meet, as if I'd actually do something if it wasn't there. But something tells me this will be that little bit harder to take. Which one was it? Oh yeah, fourth one in. No ring. Im actually suprised what a relief it is. So Andrew hasn't proposed yet. I imagine myself saying these words with a real patronising emphasis on the name. Petty yes, but I've think I've earned the right to be bitter towards the guy. The only hot girl period to ever show an interest, and someone else got there first. No offence meant, but I'm a magnet to girls with a face like a constipated bulldog and a personality to match. One in particular stands out, but she's the last thing from my mind right about now. That's the story of my life, I've known tons of good looking women in my time, but am unfortunatly a card carrying member of the friend zone. A good friend who never got laid, Ive already decided that's what's going on my tombstone.

She's seen me. That flicker of recognition before turning back towards her friend. Didn't even notice she wasn't alone, but that flicker sent my heart another three inches upwards. Now I start to panic. I hate meeting someone in the street. Do I just give a passing hey? Or maybe risk it and stop, expecting a quick chat? Or do I go for total embarrasement and wave? Ah hell. I cover it by running my hand through the hair hanging losely in my alice band. Damn I wish she was alone. Guess it's option number one then. But should I make a bigger move? How long will it be till I see her again? Will she even recognize who the hell I am? My mind goes back to when we used to hang out. How a playful stick out of the tounge could have me grinning all day, and then, rumours of my infatuation spreading like wildfire through the workplace, so that our last few weeks as friends were spent with me avoiding her gaze and drawing a verbal blank whenever we we're along together. Yep, I was quite the loser back then. But not any more. Now im much more mature, confident, sweaty. Damn I'm sweaty. My nose has an unforunate tendency to light up like a beacon when I get nervous, and right now it could be seen from Switzerland. She's looking straight at me, my hands are physically shaking. I mean seriously shaking uncontrollably. This has happened before. It wasn't even her in the end, just looked like her. Couldn't stop them for hours. That's when I knew something different was going on. Not knowing what to do, I jam my hands into my back pocket. I step out the way as some scruffy bloke in a long brown coat suddenly appears in front of me. I take just a second to wonder if Boots have finally priced shampoo out of the working class budget, and it's back to business. I take a glance at my reflection, which has suddenly appeared to my right. Hair looks good, very sleek, jacket would look better done up, I should probably have shaved. That nose could guide a Boeing in. Another glance, she knows it's me. She actually seems to light up.

I'm on auotpilot, her eyes are locked on mine, her mouth rises into a soft warm smile that sends another lurch, this time a few inches south of my stomach. She's moving in, or is that me moving to her? Either way, im suddenly standing next to her, her open jacket giving a tantalising glimpse at the figure hugging pink turtleneck underneath. She's still wearing that gold cross, she looks damn good. Stylish without even trying. All the emotions come flooding back. Please god say something first,

'hey'

The sheer sexiness of that one word almost floors me. A soft, friendly voice with an underlying bass that makes it impossible to ignore. I realise I have a huge grin on my face. Good, im gonna scare her off within 15 seconds. Everyone has bad habits, I for some reason have involuntary smirking. I must have been taking a piss when they doled them out, or at least someone else was. With great effort I get it down to what I hope is a pleased, understated smile, but the sudden intoxicating aroma wofting toward me is making it pretty hard to concentrate.

'hey'

I know, this stuff just comes off the top of my head, no planning at all. She's still looking, waiting, expecting.

'How're you doing'

Better, casual. Didn't sound that bad. Although my voice sounds really weird. I take a glance at her friend. Hey, I know her. I used to have a bit off a crush on her. Nothing to the same extent of course, but any other day her long flowing skirt and thin t-shirt barely containing her vulomptious chest would have sent more than a tingle downstairs. But today I barely registered her. I only manage a raise of the eyebrows of acknowledgment. Hopefully the grin on my face will stop me seeming like a complete jackass.

The conversations picking up. Just finished Uni, got her own flat, with each successfully completed sentence my confidence grows. As does my expectations. She likes the beard, makes me look like a student, I assume thats a good thing. We've been talking for 5 minutes, her friend has that 'yes im still here, shut the hell up' look, but I couldn't care less. This is great. Then she hits me with a clean hard strike to the groin.

' Yeah, my boyfriends moving in next week'

I keep on setting them up, and they keep knocking them out the park. I've lost count of the number of times the basic same sentence has sent me to the floor quicker than an Argentine in the penalty box. I should really have got used to it by now. We keep talking, but my hearts not in it. Im asking questions about something she mentioned a minute ago, always a sign the conversations drying up. Her friend gives her a knowing glance. We're done here. I quickly ponder asking to exchange phone numbers, but my confidence has taken a vacation, taking my ego with it. But left a twenty. My left hand has found a crisp note in my pocket. Fantastic, I love it when that happens.

Next thing I know, she's walking away, and so am I. I dont even bother looking back, that would just seem to obvious. And pointless. My gut missed the offramp from it's venture to my throat and was now nestled somewhere around my bowels. Im not really sure what to make of it. I guess seeing her and sriking out was better than not seeing her at all. But I still can't shake the feeling of dissapointment, and the faintest hint of wanting to find a little guy and start a fight. That girl really knows how to fuck with my head. Five years on and still no one else has quite got the knack of it. No doubt those 7 minutes have cost me at least 3 months of lying in bed depressed till 2 o clock in the afternoon listening to Savage Garden. Still, I have to admit it was kinda worth it. And her friend had at least given me something to do while I was there. I give another wide grin, hardly able to believe what had just happened. A twenty. Definitly one to tell down the pub.