Saturday, August 28, 2004

I smelled you on my shirt today

So... Imagine a boy. smirkingly confident, ursine, green-eyed. Now imagine a girl. Self-consciously average, crooked grin, green-eyed. Why not make it interesting and say they're both spoken for.

Now imagine between these two a friendship of sorts, with an ebb and flow of sympathies.
Sometimes they're the pair snickering over a crudely drawn naked woman on a colleague's door.
Sometimes they're not exactly on speaking terms, perhaps due to a swastika on the same colleague's door.
Sometimes he twists her arms behind her back and pins her to the floor, sometimes she bites and claws him.
And sometimes, she feels ill and tired and awakens disoriented from a mid-afternoon nap only to find him knocking on her door and holding out his hand as a peace offering.

Where might this lead?
To staying up until 4 a.m.
To four hour long belly rubs
To anime porn and regular porn and American Beauty and Korn.
To break ups and heart breaks.
To a kiss.

I would like to briefly describe the kiss...If I might filch a line from Nat King Cole... For sentimental reasons. Directly following the kiss it was truthed to be one, if not the best kiss ever experienced. However later it was pointed out that physically the kiss was not especially different then any other, even if it was in excellent form. What about things not corporal? I would imagine it is debatable. But it was hidden and secretive, anticipated, unexpected, thought out and perfectly executed.

Least I bore you, gentle readers, with any more of the maudlin details I will jump ahead to the end of the spring. Ten days passed as they should with no word passing between the girl and the boy. Living arrangements for the rest of their lives put between them a more considerable distance then there previously had been. But rather unexpectedly, plans were made. Frogs were poked at, birds identified, poison oak rashes developed. Evening walks through Berkeley and a golden afternoon in San Francisco.

And then the American continent threatened to interpose its bulk between the girl and the boy. Again, plans were made. This time separately. The boy packed his boxes and the girl registered for her classes. Though the physical distance between them remained the same for the time being, it seemed significantly harder to traverse.

And then, at the last moment the boy unpacked his boxes, rearranged his CD collection and settled back into his burgundy room.

Poor Atlanta, nobody likes being rejected.

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