The Pickup Chronicles
Carthaginian
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The beginning of my Pickup Chronicles. Full-length piece is linked to at the bottom.
BAR
"I arrive at the bar later than I intend. My wish to skip the usual Sunday night crowds has been executed too well.
I lean back in the car. Some idiot had almost turned into me on the way over. I had kept my foot down, like any true man, and had blasted the horn, scaring him off the side road and into the pavement.
I hadn't bothered to check if he was unhurt. Probably ? .
Driving standards in this country remain appalling. I sigh.
I get out of the car, and I'm greeted by brisk, cold air. I lean against the vehicle, taking a deep breath, relaxing a bit.
It's dark here, sometime past midnight. No moon. The only light on the narrow, cobblestoned road comes from a solitary street lamp. It's eerie, the shadows on the stones. I look around.
It seems fairly deserted...
I hear the sounds of cars in the distance and am somewhat relieved. I look for the actual entrance to the bar. I see an alley way through the buildings on my right, next to the side pavement I've parked alongside.
A dog barks.
I think thats probably the cue I needed. I have to move.
So I do, finally spotting what could be the entrance of my destination a bit into the alley.
I walk quickly toward the the blocky sign, which is not well lit. It takes me some time to find the door ? .
I wonder if somehow this bar is trying to hide itself.
I make out the name. It's called "Razors".
I hope that isn't foreshadowing the rest of the night. Why would anyone call a bar that?
I jiggle the ? for a few moments. The door feels old, and flimsy. I jiggle harder. It finally gives in a little.
I hear faint music. Possibly Blues in tone. The door creaks as it swings fully open.
The music gets louder. Yes, Blues. Not loud club music or radio hip-hop. Strange. Perhaps this might work after all.
Inside the bar, the shadowy theme from outside continues. It's dark in here, too. The "light" comes from triangular lamps hung from the ceiling. Very hipstery pseudo-japanese feng shui. At odds with the music in here.
There's a purplish, neon glow that distorts everything in here.
But it looks like a good sized space. Round tables with chairs stacked alongside are arranged in a semi-organized pattern around me.
There's what looks like a lounge section of a bit to the left that I catch out of the corner of my eye. It probably serves as the bar's defacto VIP section. Leather seats and better lighting.
I note where I plan on sitting most of the night.
At the front, the burly bartender wipes away grime from his glasses. He seems consumed by his work, not bothered by the music or the light or indeed, the two men on the stools close by.
No women sitting at the bar. That's a bad sign for me.
I scan inside again, closely.
Wait, no. There's two. They aren't together, unfortunately for me. One is drinking from a tall glass by herself, checking her phone from time to time.
The other is engaged in a lively conversation with a youngish looking man. The way they both speak...so closely together. They're a couple. They sit closest to the bar, at one of the round tables.
The lonely woman is sitting on one of the leather lounge seats. She seems confident and independent. My weakness. Better lighting, as well, makes it easier to make out her subtle prettiness.
I make the easy choice. That's my target. That's the reason I braved public roads to come to this place.
I walk up to the bar and order something.
It's my usual drink. Absolut, neat. I don't do fancy, mixed cocktails. I'm stubbornly old school in that, which has been unfortunate for my clubbing prospects.
The bartender nods impassively and disappears for a moment under the stacks of drinks behind him.
One of the two men sitting at the bar is asleep. His snores are loud enough to bother every one here, although no one seems to notice.
The other geezer has his head in his hands. I can't tell if hes qiuetly moaning or singing. He's not moving around much.
Rough night, probably.
My drink arrives. I hit the first shot in one go. The tangy, oily taste saturates my throat. I feel the cool liquid flow downward, into my gut.
I'm sure my liver grumbles a protest. My head burns slightly.
I wait a moment, glance back at the lonely girl.
She seems intent on whatever she's viewing on her phone. She sits still, flicking her thumb downward, scrolling the screen.
I'm struck by her cuteness again.
She's not really all that, I realize, but damn, she's the only single woman here.
I wonder how many men have approached. Have failed. I glance back at the two men sitting next to me. No change in their movements since I arrived.
I wonder if the moaning geezer tried to speak to her.
I wonder, and then I wonder why I care? I'll succeed where they failed. I probably have better game than all of them.
I shake my head. I might be losing already.
But hell, the way I see it, I'm the only viable candidate left in the bar to show her a good time.
The thought helps.
The bartender returns with another shot. I drink this one more slowly, allowing the clear, silky smoothness of the liquid to envelop my chest.
I feel my inhibitions slipping, the fear, the thoughts, everything that holds me back...I feel it all drown under the Absolut.
I check my watch. 12:30. Dammit. A small voice warns.
I have to work early tomorrow, but I need this.
I slide off the stool and walk slowly over to the lounge area. My heart should be racing, and maybe it is, but the drink is doing it's job.
I search myself, finding nothing but anticipation..."
http://nycollegian.blogspot.com/2015/03/pickup-chronicles-chapter-1.html
BAR
"I arrive at the bar later than I intend. My wish to skip the usual Sunday night crowds has been executed too well.
I lean back in the car. Some idiot had almost turned into me on the way over. I had kept my foot down, like any true man, and had blasted the horn, scaring him off the side road and into the pavement.
I hadn't bothered to check if he was unhurt. Probably ? .
Driving standards in this country remain appalling. I sigh.
I get out of the car, and I'm greeted by brisk, cold air. I lean against the vehicle, taking a deep breath, relaxing a bit.
It's dark here, sometime past midnight. No moon. The only light on the narrow, cobblestoned road comes from a solitary street lamp. It's eerie, the shadows on the stones. I look around.
It seems fairly deserted...
I hear the sounds of cars in the distance and am somewhat relieved. I look for the actual entrance to the bar. I see an alley way through the buildings on my right, next to the side pavement I've parked alongside.
A dog barks.
I think thats probably the cue I needed. I have to move.
So I do, finally spotting what could be the entrance of my destination a bit into the alley.
I walk quickly toward the the blocky sign, which is not well lit. It takes me some time to find the door ? .
I wonder if somehow this bar is trying to hide itself.
I make out the name. It's called "Razors".
I hope that isn't foreshadowing the rest of the night. Why would anyone call a bar that?
I jiggle the ? for a few moments. The door feels old, and flimsy. I jiggle harder. It finally gives in a little.
I hear faint music. Possibly Blues in tone. The door creaks as it swings fully open.
The music gets louder. Yes, Blues. Not loud club music or radio hip-hop. Strange. Perhaps this might work after all.
Inside the bar, the shadowy theme from outside continues. It's dark in here, too. The "light" comes from triangular lamps hung from the ceiling. Very hipstery pseudo-japanese feng shui. At odds with the music in here.
There's a purplish, neon glow that distorts everything in here.
But it looks like a good sized space. Round tables with chairs stacked alongside are arranged in a semi-organized pattern around me.
There's what looks like a lounge section of a bit to the left that I catch out of the corner of my eye. It probably serves as the bar's defacto VIP section. Leather seats and better lighting.
I note where I plan on sitting most of the night.
At the front, the burly bartender wipes away grime from his glasses. He seems consumed by his work, not bothered by the music or the light or indeed, the two men on the stools close by.
No women sitting at the bar. That's a bad sign for me.
I scan inside again, closely.
Wait, no. There's two. They aren't together, unfortunately for me. One is drinking from a tall glass by herself, checking her phone from time to time.
The other is engaged in a lively conversation with a youngish looking man. The way they both speak...so closely together. They're a couple. They sit closest to the bar, at one of the round tables.
The lonely woman is sitting on one of the leather lounge seats. She seems confident and independent. My weakness. Better lighting, as well, makes it easier to make out her subtle prettiness.
I make the easy choice. That's my target. That's the reason I braved public roads to come to this place.
I walk up to the bar and order something.
It's my usual drink. Absolut, neat. I don't do fancy, mixed cocktails. I'm stubbornly old school in that, which has been unfortunate for my clubbing prospects.
The bartender nods impassively and disappears for a moment under the stacks of drinks behind him.
One of the two men sitting at the bar is asleep. His snores are loud enough to bother every one here, although no one seems to notice.
The other geezer has his head in his hands. I can't tell if hes qiuetly moaning or singing. He's not moving around much.
Rough night, probably.
My drink arrives. I hit the first shot in one go. The tangy, oily taste saturates my throat. I feel the cool liquid flow downward, into my gut.
I'm sure my liver grumbles a protest. My head burns slightly.
I wait a moment, glance back at the lonely girl.
She seems intent on whatever she's viewing on her phone. She sits still, flicking her thumb downward, scrolling the screen.
I'm struck by her cuteness again.
She's not really all that, I realize, but damn, she's the only single woman here.
I wonder how many men have approached. Have failed. I glance back at the two men sitting next to me. No change in their movements since I arrived.
I wonder if the moaning geezer tried to speak to her.
I wonder, and then I wonder why I care? I'll succeed where they failed. I probably have better game than all of them.
I shake my head. I might be losing already.
But hell, the way I see it, I'm the only viable candidate left in the bar to show her a good time.
The thought helps.
The bartender returns with another shot. I drink this one more slowly, allowing the clear, silky smoothness of the liquid to envelop my chest.
I feel my inhibitions slipping, the fear, the thoughts, everything that holds me back...I feel it all drown under the Absolut.
I check my watch. 12:30. Dammit. A small voice warns.
I have to work early tomorrow, but I need this.
I slide off the stool and walk slowly over to the lounge area. My heart should be racing, and maybe it is, but the drink is doing it's job.
I search myself, finding nothing but anticipation..."
http://nycollegian.blogspot.com/2015/03/pickup-chronicles-chapter-1.html
Comments
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Chapter 2
Full piece is in the link at the bottom.
BREAD-WINNERS
"The morning sun, half hidden in clouds, winks at me.
Looks to be another bright day, but it's another cold morning.
I stand outside, shivering and smoking. I have to be in the office in about fifteen minutes. I don't feel particularly rushed...and yet, the thought of work looms large in my mind.
I push it away. There's something I have to do first.
I lean against the car.
I'm parked in the deserted parking lot across from the office building. It is very early for most people, I realize. The reason for my parking here is in front of me; the red brick sandwich cafe that is inexplicably named "Bread-Winners".
I inhale the smoke rising up in front of me.
I steel myself as the irrational calmness of the blunt hits; my mind lifts off. Breathing changes.
The sun feels brighter, warmer. I suddenly love the clouds a lot more than I did a few minutes ago.
My thoughts start to deviate. I wonder if the owner of the sandwich place was high when he thought of the name.
My synapses open up. I feel alert and aware.
I let myself vibe for a few minutes.
I carefully put out the burning end of the blunt and open the car door. A sudden inertia causes me to bang my hand against the door jamb. The paper piece, containing so much wound up THC, falls.
I curse and pick it up.
I'm successful in packing it away in the glove compartment on a second attempt.
I haven't smoked in a while actually. May explain my current awkwardness with the whole process. Truthfully, I wouldn't get high this early and on a weekday, but today is special.
There's another sensation. The nervous electricity of my brain expands and contracts. Somehow it isn't as cold anymore.
This feels ? great, I admit to myself. I smile a little.
I don't realize I've been standing aimlessly for quite a while until I hear the engine of another car rev next to me and drive past. So, another early riser has made it. Which means...the world is waking up, and I'm running out of time.
I adjust my shirt and tie and jacket, looking at the distorted image of myself in the car's window. I don't look as impressive as I feel, but I shrug that annoying insecurity away.
GQ in this ?
I clear my throat and inhale fresh air, trying to reset my brain. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth.
I adjust my tie again.
I lock the car and walk purposefully toward the sandwich shop. It looks lonely, a blocky building with all its lights on with nothing or no one around it. Just gray pavement and red brick and sky.
The only other sounds I hear are the birds. It all seems so peaceful.
Somehow I take some solace in that. If I am to embarrass myself with this, then at least I will do it alone. My mind thinks of a million different logical probabilities; it helps.
But there's one image it constantly holds. A woman, of course.
Her eyes. Her ass. Her legs.
Her name, surprisingly of less importance. Veronica.
She works here.
And I aim to charm her. While under the influence. It is an experiment.
I open the door, hearing that little *ding* that alerts whoever's inside of a walk-in customer, and I pause.
Idiot.
I don't even know if she's working today! The last two times I've seen her...we've talked, but never in depth and never about her work schedule. I have wanted to ask about those things, but I've been predictably cautious about appearing too weird.
Now, high and so, so confident...I need the person making my sandwich to be her.
"Heyyy. Good Murning!"
My heart does a little pirouette. It is her. I've heard her voice but I haven't seen her because I've been standing close to the door and looking everywhere else but the counter.
I turn to take it in. Her hair is in a bun; this morning it's more golden than usual. Her dark eyebrows are raised; she watches me. Her body is relaxed, leaning against the register. She has this a smallish, round face. It's cute.
She's kind of half-smiling. I walk towards the counter, smiling myself.
"Hey. How're you doing?" I ask.
Too basic.
What the hell?
Our conversation is in the initial stages but...the high I'm on is...not doing me any favours. I don't feel any more suave than usual. But, I tell myself, the game is not over yet.
She is just making me a sandwich. A small part of me fights my hope.
The scope of conversation within the sandwich-making window can't ever be large enough for me to work my magic.
Shut up, Thomas.
I'm closer to her and observe again..the tightly fitted green shirt which tries and fails to hide her wonderful ? ...and the black, hugging leggings that highlight her other great asset.
She walks toward me, and this action will be sung in the halls of heaven because the way her ass moves...is glorious.
"Gud. Gud. You know. Jus' work." She responds, and I realize she has responded some time ago but I've been too blazed to notice. I hear her familiar Dominican accent and I snap to attention.
"Looks like you're working hard." I say. I try to be coy with it.
She laughs. Or snorts.
Then she looks away. I notice the clear gloves she's put on. So all business then. She's waiting for me to tell her what kind of sandwich I'd like.
? . My mind is a blank.
This is not going to plan, Tommy boy.
"What do you guys have for today, for breakfast?" I ask calmly, smoothly...hiding my frustration. I'm trying to make my eyes twinkle.
"Same t'ing. Ham. Yellow or White eggs.." her voice drawls off, expectant.
It seems that I am to respond with what I want to eat, not anything else.
I make a show of checking out the choices available to me.
"I'm not sure...What do you think I should go with?" I ask, ever-smiling.
She shrugs, noncommittal and somewhat uninterested.
My mind, again dissolving into a million rivulets of thoughts, records her action and feels...what? Sadness?
"The steak...maybe." She says, laughing a bit.
I'm not reaching her. Now my mind runs with another thought. I wonder if language has anything to do with it. I wish, for the thousandth time, that I knew how to speak Spanish.
The key to unlocking a Latina's attraction, that which I crave so unrelentingly right now, must be mastery of the language. My mind's logic tells me that it is so.
Or perhaps, my mind is searching for a lifeline to save itself?
Shut up, Thomas.
Thats how all the Latino guys do it, right? With all the dominicanas fawning over them...even if there seems to be a clear delineation in talent and intelligence between me and a few.
Memories from my college years flash in my head
Perhaps, this is...
The door dings behind me, breaking me out of my reverie. I look back.
A middle-aged man shuffles in. Speak of the devil...he looks Latino. He gives me a cursory glance and walks to her. His strides are arrogant.
"Hola.." he begins.
..."
http://nycollegian.blogspot.com/2015/03/pickup-chronicles-chapter-two.html
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Cool ? .
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Most of these dudes don't read, or are Dyslexic, but good ? , B.
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Glad to know the Chronicles has fans. Chapter 3 is coming very soon...
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Chapter 3
You know the deal by now.
PATH
"? .
I feel a choking blackness. It's as hard to breathe as it is to open my eyes.
I panic. I take in a few ragged breaths.
What's going on? This isn't real. I must be...
I ? awake.
Ugh.
My head feels groggy and heavy. Small pinpricks of perspiration drip slowly down my forehead.
Am I home???
No.
Then, where...?
Inside my car.
I struggle to fully wake up. My mouth has an unpleasant taste. I'm definitely sweaty. The air feels heavy. Smell isn't great either.
I look past my windshield, taking in the environment around me. The sun seems to be winking it's last over the horizon of trees ahead in my view. There's a golden, yellow glow on everything. It may be because my eyes are still blurry but the trees seem to waver in the breeze...Small dots of brown leaves dance in the distance.
I roll down my window. A blast of cool air greets me.
I'm probably still high, because I love it. The air feels extraordinarily refreshing. I look out to the parking lot in front of the trees ahead.
A small group of people are still here, enjoying the Park's natural beauty.
The reason I drove here coalesces fully in my mind. I can't help but smile a little.
It's the reason I do most things these days.
I chose this particular area because a lot of attractive women congregate here during warm weather months. Right now, it seems as though my guess about early May being warm enough was wrong.
For a sharp second, I'm embarrassed at myself.
Idly, some small part of my brain wonders if this is truly my break from the rational into the obsessive.
My behaviour recently seems....strategic, somehow. I'm eerily close to the point of desperation, perhaps I'm over the edge, already.
It takes effort to shrug off my doubts, but I do so successfully. I can't do this now. On top of all my issues, I can't lose sight of myself.
I'd driven in around 3pm. Perfect peak time, I'd thought. But I'd forgotten to tell my body that. I'd taken a small hit from my faithful blunt; that's another addiction, my brain warns. I shrug it off quickly this time.
Then, I'd promptly dozed off as soon as I reclined my car seat. I hadn't known the extent of my exhaustion.
I check my watch now.
4.43.
Damn.
As I say, there aren't too many people out and about in the park. And of the few here, none are in or around my wheelhouse.
I sigh. I might as well salvage the rest of the day then. I need more fresh air.
I step outside my car, straighten my shirt. It's a comicky design, with the armor of the hero character Thor imprinted on it. I figure it's zany/hipster/different enough for me to stand out. I look at a reflection of myself in the car's window. My body-shape, athletic and lean, fills out the shirt well enough.
Looking good.
GQ in this ? . I smile again.
I walk out of the parking lot, heading towards the Park's "nature" trail. I spot a few people walking from the opposite direction, the golf course. Predictably, they all look like they're in their 80s. They give me a cursory glance; their stares linger on at my shirt. I force a smile and a few waves. The old women wave back.
My perpetual fan club.
I shake my head, hoping that my luck improves.
Walking on the nature trail, I step on broken branches and leaves, enjoying the sights and sounds. Insects, more of them bees than I'd care to admit, buzz around me. The air feels less heavy, smoother, cleaner to breathe. I hear cicadas and birds. It sounds like a proper forest, and I'm reminded of a time in my youth, back home, where...
I get lost in the tranquility for a moment.
"--Hey!! How are you?!" a female voice breaks my reverie.
I turn, very surprised, and see a tall blonde slowly jog to a stop beside me. How did I miss her?
She's taller than the average woman. Her hair is tied up in a stiff bun. Her eyes are a striking, light blue. She's wearing a blue blouse with skin-tight black pants. Her skin is bronzed, tanned well.
Her body looks splendid.
My heart, predictable little ? that it is, leaps with excitement.
Interestingly, I know her from...somewhere. Can't place her name. Her smile is quick, radiant.
"..Hey...you?" I respond, automatically sticking out my hand...then regretting that horribly formal decision immediately.
Off-guard. I'm off-guard.
Be composed. You're in control.
"..Tom right? You were in my kick-boxing class with Alexa at UFF's gym?" She tilts her head, smiling after she's released my hand.
Ok? So, definite interest.
You're in control.
My brain goes through it's own rolodex, placing names to faces. I remember Alexa, a relatively buxom boxing instructor who I had an eye on for the entire duration of my class attendance. And then I remember the blonde...I'd spoken to her a few times during the three weeks of grueling workouts. I'd hardly given her a thought, so full of Alexa's ass was I, but now...
What was her name, again...Brienne? Brianna?
"..Brianna?" I say, questioning but smiling, back on my game.
She returns the smile and nods. "How've you been? Haven't seen you in class for a while?"
Opportunity.
I settle, thinking of something epic to say in reply to her question. What great feat have I accomplished during my absence from the gym? It certainly can't be the truth, which is that the gym's fees have become grossly prohibitive to my financial sustenance.
It has to be...noble. I search my brain quickly and then fall upon a reliable refrain.
"I've...been working most of the time, you know? I've just had a tough schedule." I respond. I try to seem tough...to seem like a...gritty survivalist.
She nods compassionately. But only on the surface. I don't win her with my answer.
"Yeah I know that can be tough. But you know, you should try and come! They've changed some stuff around..Alexa's got some new routines going that are pretty cool."
I nod as she speaks, but without much verve. I watch her instead.
This conversational thread is losing me. I lack sufficient interest in this...kind of...surface conversation. My brain flashes quickly, an image of Brianna's lips, parted, open, wanting mine.
Focus.
She smiles again, and her blue, blue eyes all but twinkle at me. Her nose, a small, buttoned up affair, assumes a pretty shape when she does smile. Brianna also smells...good. Fresh.
I know now I have to stall for time, to try and find another in.
"Oh yeah...really? What, Alexa wanted to torture you guys more?" I respond easily.
She laughs, tilts her head again. Her eyes meet mine, and sparks definitely fly. Her cool blues are serene, like two still pools.
An image of her tangled in my sheets....Her long, naked leg teasing out from underneath the white cloth...
Focus!
The thought of my success thus far emboldens me.
"You run here a lot?" I look around the path. The air still feels fantastic.
"Uh huh. As you can see, I'm an exercise freak, so..." She chuckles, indicating her getup and glancing at me again.
I'm hooked. Tommy Salmon. Everything flows.
"I can see that." I smile. ".Wish I could join you, but...I'm not really dressed for running.." I indicate my shirt..."
........
http://nycollegian.blogspot.com/2015/05/pickup-chronicles-chapter-tres.html
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I hope you get the ?
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The genius...
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Nice piece!!
Keep dropping your stories..and thanks for sharing with us.. -
Preview of 4. In the burner:
"...I think of her again. My longest relationship. Her name.
She has an unattractive one.
Names are actually not such trivial things.
We meet at a Business Club dinner on Campus. I'm curious about her. I'm standing some ways away from the food table. I inch forward closer.
I see her...alone and sampling some snacks from the trays. She's built well. Athletic. Her hair is brown, sort of tied in a bun...all over the place. Her skin is smooth caramel; reminiscent of a "lite-skinted ? ". The joke loops in my brain. I am a stereotype.
I like how...aloof she seems. She seems cold but inviting at the same time, which is impressive.
She's shorter, wearing glasses. Proper. Nice ? , from the look of it, although my angle of viewing isn't great. I look for an opportunity to move closer.
I'm holding a rapidly deteriorating conversation with a group of sycophants. One of my acquaintances makes a joke about sandwiches. One other in the group laughs nervously.
I inch ever closer.
My memory is hazy at this point. The dark ceiling in my room gives me no reprieve. I still stare at it.
I remember trying to continue the conversation; remember it dying...remember not caring.
I walk over to food.
"Hey. You're in the club right?" I ask.
Her face rises up. She glances at me, a quick smile. Her eyes, through her glasses, are beautifully lazy.
"Yeah. You too?" She smiles again.
I nod, looking away.
? . I'm in.
I remember that feeling of intuition. She liked me before I'd said a ? word.
Now, I bring the comforter up, a shield to the blowing fan. It's getting colder in the bedroom.
I roll over to my side and the long, dark curtains that frame my window greet me. They blow a little outward, a sign of the windy night.
My thoughts return to her.
Destiny is her name, she tells me, and my heart falls.
An undercurrent of disappointment flashes within me. It's not...it's not...romantic enough.
I think of...nicknames.
Her name is not one where a lovable nickname is easily made. It tarnishes the moment enough to temper some enthusiasm.
But she smiles again, and I find myself liking it
..." -
wherethe rest?
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It's here. Apologies for the wait. Editing is a ? ; also have some other things I'm working on...
"
BEDROOM
You need a woman.
My brain, most reliable of organs, reminds me.
I lie on my stomach; semi-awake. My bedroom is predictably dark.
I groan inwardly. My head does not like the interrupted slumber. I glance at the time.
4:17 AM.
I groan again. My dreams were interrupted by a close friend's call. I had scrambled for the phone, only succeeding in knocking it over. A futile few minutes follows as I scrape my hands beneath the bed, trying to find it.
The ring-tone has long-faded by the time I grasp it. But he calls again.
And I'm not surprised by what he wants.
He needs a bailout from his most recent mess. He's just come back from the city and needs a ride home. His parents, who had forbidden him to go, refuse to pick him up from the train station.
I gently decline, wondering, for the thousandth time, how one of the smartest people I know always seems to find himself in a situational quagmire.
Afterward and even more predictably, I'm torn about the decision, feeling disloyal.
I mentally flip a coin, running my mind through all of the different possibilities and every thought in my brain says No.
I can't drive around at 4:00 AM.
Not with the contraband in my car. I wonder if my paranoia is well-placed.
I groan again.
I turn to lie flat on my back, facing the ceiling. I'll give this ? flat one thing; my bed is comfortable and wide. The right kind of springy. Big enough to hold two people, supple enough to withstand their every motion.
I think how of easy it would be to make decisions like this if I felt a woman beside me. I think back to the choices I've had for potential long-term relationships and I cringe.
This woman can't be any other. Not the portly, big-? and nice kind.
I think of my ideal. Tall. Tri-racial. Leggy. Beautiful. Smart. Deviant.
I should be exhausted with this exercise. It's not the first time I've done it...and judging by my current aridity, won't be the last. It's the analysis again; the fascinations; the fantasy.
I think of my longest relationship. How I did things differently. The why of it.
My mind goes back to the first time I speak to her.
She has an unattractive name. That's one of my first impressions of her, and perhaps the relationship was doomed to failure after she tells me. Names are not such trivial things.
We meet at a Business Society dinner on Campus. I'm curious about her, standing some ways away from the food table. She's alone and sampling some snacks from the trays. I like how...aloof she seems.
She's shorter, has glasses. Athletic shape. Nice ? , from the look of it, although the angle of sight makes it hard to fully judge.
At the time, I'm holding a rapidly deteriorating conversation with a group of sycophants. What we speak about escapes my memory.
I see the girl alone, and a part of me wakes up. She's the only thing in the place that radiates...confidence. Calm.
The sycophants continuing chattering like birds, enocuraged by a new entrant to our group.
I remember nodding, vaguely connected, and I abruptly walk over to Food.
"Hey. You're in the club?" I ask.
Her face rises up. She glances at me, a quick smile.
"Yeah. You too?"
I nod, looking away.
? yes. I'm in.
My mind at least remembers the positive beginning to our conversation, but very little of the specifics.
Now, I roll over to my side and the long, dark curtains that frame my window greet me. They blow a little outward, a sign of the windy night.
Yes, it would've been insane to drive around at this time, I assure myself.
My thoughts return to her.
Destiny is her name. When she tells me this an undercurrent of disappointment flashes within me. I wonder if it was truly just that. The basic nature of that seemingly insignificant part of her. I think of how that can be ascribed to destructive psychosis; perhaps I have the reasons why I am where I am right now...
I delve deeper.
Her name was not one where a lovable nickname was easily made. I loved...and still love, nicknames. My name is an endless smorgasbord...Tom, Thomas, Tommy, Tommee. I like it all.
Destiny is...difficult. It also seems particularly unimaginative.
At the time, however, I shove that particular unease away. At least then, I was...reasonable.
I begin to like her as we speak. She's personable and a fairly good talker.
My mind tracks back to the point when what we had switched from interest to an actual relationship. How did I manage it?
I sigh. I want to give this up. This tired game. I want to reward my exhaustion by giving in to sleep.
Of course, some part of me refuses this.
Destiny.
I almost laugh at the movie-trailer like tone I imagine the name in.
I invite her, quite early on, to spend the night at my apartment. It's bold of me at the time. I ? her to her class, and we chat right beside the door.
The inspiration comes fast.
"If you're not going to make it home, you can come over."
She looks at me and smiles. Her eyes glint beneath her glasses.
" I don't knoww.." she elongates the last word. It's cute.
I parry her every refusal, so confident in the knowledge that she does dig me. It makes everything easier. My mind makes a connection.
So that is it, then? Confidence?
Ha. Not that answer again. The one which I pound and pound and pound within myself.
No. Push further.
How did it fail?
We spend the night in my small bedroom. It's a shared living space with a Latino family. It isn't ideal at the time but it's convenient. I make her hot chocolate, she loves it.
We don't have sex that first night, my goal being a chivalrous one; Now, as I wander back in time, disappointment rages at that fact. If I'd known what came later...
We talk deep into the night. I hold her, smell her hair...
I remember loving her scent. Her shampoo...
She falls asleep into my arms. I watch a Formula 1 race, stroking her hair. She doesn't snore, there isn't anything untoward about her presence. Some part of me is surprised.
Her back rises and falls instep with her breathing. She seems so delicate and...beautiful. I feel an overwhelming sense of calm and...what?
Power.
This is what love feels like, you idiot. I tell myself this and I can't go to sleep.
I remember that night. And really, truly, that is the high point of our relationship.
Afterward, in a hailstorm of angry spanish, the landlord forbids me from bringing a female friend over again. Her daughter translates, almost apologetically. I'm incredulous. It offends their sensibilities, apparently. My protests fall on deaf ears, and that's that for Destiny's visitation rights.
Now, I shift in my bed. That was the first sign...the death knell.
Weeks pass where we alternatively kiss and fight and smoke and fight and kiss. One evening, we run up to the uppermost floor on campus, and she gives me a ? . I remember looking outside the window, at the cars flashing past below, and thinking that life could not get better than this...
Then the final breaking point. Weeks later, she takes a final and does horribly on it. She sends me a terse, four worded text. Worried, I text back, consoling her.
I call her, after I've received no response for some time.
Nothing.
..."
http://nycollegian.blogspot.com/2015/05/destiny-chapter-four.html
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thats ? up I woulda picked up my homie from the station
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Hahaha...
I enjoyed reading this story...
