I've got a crush that I can't touch. And when I touch it, IF I touch it, will it die? Oh, I don't want to kill. I'd rather be killed. This is me now. But I don't want to discuss "me now" at length. I'd rather dredge up some memories. Keep in mind, these are only memories, so you don't have to offer advice or console or congratulate me. They are in the past, and almost nothing remains from them anymore. Enjoy.
Memory # 1 -
Cincinnatti. They are walking through the stale summer air toward the club at twilight. He is her friend. He is going to see the band. She is going to see the band. She is not expecting to see anything but the band, but that's okay, because they are friends of hers -- the singer even gave her an orgasm once upon a time.
(Memory within a memory: She is shy. Obsession. The sight of him on stage flashes back to her. Commanding. They have not kissed, and she has playfully pillow-fought her way into his bed. She drove all the way to Chicago. She is naive to believe he does not know this.
He kisses her neck. She is fidgeting with a sticker, trying desperately to peel the backing off of it. When she succeeds, she thinks, she will give in to his kiss. The sticker cannot be conquered. She tears at it. The corners will not seperate. He kisses her ears and whispers something wet with lust into her ear. She drops the sticker, and takes him in.)
Return to Memory # 1 -
They approach the club. She hears her name called out by a surprised voice. It is the singer. They hug. He is surprised to see her in Cincinnatti. She is happy to see him. The obsession ended more quickly than it began. She feels nothing tempting, nothing unsatisfied. Nothing but happiness to see him. It has been a year and 1/2 since she dropped the sticker. She believes she figuratively picked it back up the next day. Losing control, finding control.
She made calls to a boy from Cincinatti. She sent e-messages, e-mail, and no response. It was late notice. She wanted him to know she was in town. She does not know why she wants to see him. She has never been interested in him. He was creepy. He was too enamoured. He was forward and honest and adoring. She was disinterested. She was always disinterested. She doesn't understand why she tried to get him to come. He's not there. He didn't return the calls from earlier that day. He has moved on.
She is sitting on the sidewalk talking to her friend, smoking a Camel light, and hiking up her fishnets. When she stands, the wind blows her skirt up. So she sits. Her friend says "Look who it is."
She turns, and there he is...the boy from Cincinnatti. The boy she is not interested in. The boy who had previously angered her with his blind adoration. She turns, see him, and is reborn. He is the most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes on.
He didn't get the calls.
He didn't get the messages.
He didn't know she was in Cincinatti.
He was at work, and on a whim, decided to go see this band.
"If this is not fate, then I don't know what is. If this is not love, then I don't want to live." - This is what she wrote on the long busride back to Richmond.
Memory # 1 -
Cincinnatti. They are walking through the stale summer air toward the club at twilight. He is her friend. He is going to see the band. She is going to see the band. She is not expecting to see anything but the band, but that's okay, because they are friends of hers -- the singer even gave her an orgasm once upon a time.
(Memory within a memory: She is shy. Obsession. The sight of him on stage flashes back to her. Commanding. They have not kissed, and she has playfully pillow-fought her way into his bed. She drove all the way to Chicago. She is naive to believe he does not know this.
He kisses her neck. She is fidgeting with a sticker, trying desperately to peel the backing off of it. When she succeeds, she thinks, she will give in to his kiss. The sticker cannot be conquered. She tears at it. The corners will not seperate. He kisses her ears and whispers something wet with lust into her ear. She drops the sticker, and takes him in.)
Return to Memory # 1 -
They approach the club. She hears her name called out by a surprised voice. It is the singer. They hug. He is surprised to see her in Cincinnatti. She is happy to see him. The obsession ended more quickly than it began. She feels nothing tempting, nothing unsatisfied. Nothing but happiness to see him. It has been a year and 1/2 since she dropped the sticker. She believes she figuratively picked it back up the next day. Losing control, finding control.
She made calls to a boy from Cincinatti. She sent e-messages, e-mail, and no response. It was late notice. She wanted him to know she was in town. She does not know why she wants to see him. She has never been interested in him. He was creepy. He was too enamoured. He was forward and honest and adoring. She was disinterested. She was always disinterested. She doesn't understand why she tried to get him to come. He's not there. He didn't return the calls from earlier that day. He has moved on.
She is sitting on the sidewalk talking to her friend, smoking a Camel light, and hiking up her fishnets. When she stands, the wind blows her skirt up. So she sits. Her friend says "Look who it is."
She turns, and there he is...the boy from Cincinnatti. The boy she is not interested in. The boy who had previously angered her with his blind adoration. She turns, see him, and is reborn. He is the most beautiful thing she has ever laid eyes on.
He didn't get the calls.
He didn't get the messages.
He didn't know she was in Cincinatti.
He was at work, and on a whim, decided to go see this band.
"If this is not fate, then I don't know what is. If this is not love, then I don't want to live." - This is what she wrote on the long busride back to Richmond.
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-pb