LONG ONES
(^_
What a way to spend my spring break, with 30 old people at some dried up home in Florida. Let me tell you, I was not looking forward to the 2 & a half hour flight from Philadelphia to Fort Lauderdale squashed in between Great Grandma Evie & old Aunt Augusta's huge flowery hat. Gosh! She insists on wearing that hat everywhere. I serves no purpose besides causing her (& consequently, me) to stick out like a sore thumb. Not that any of us need help with that. We're Greek through & through. Loud, large, & always in charge. Not afraid to speak our minds. That is, all of us except me. I'm Bella, quite, shy, blue eyed & embarassed 99 percent of the time. Mom sent me on this trip to "break me out of my shell." Her words, not mine.
It's been three weeks. Three weeks since you spoke those words and I knew it was over. Three weeks since our last conversation, our last hug, our last kiss. Then today it happened. It wasn't at all how I'd imagined it. I guess I didn't really expect things to go back to normal, back to before the biggest mistake of our lives, but I guess I'd kind of hoped it would. But like every other breakup, it didn't. He said "hey" and brushed my arm. His touch still sent shivers up my spine. I tried to smile. I don't think it worked. He needed a ride home. What an awkward car ride. We spend most of the car ride from hell in silence, wrapped up in our own thoughts, mine being of him and how his cologne filled up the entire car, and of how I hoped the scent would linger. His I'm sure were of her, his new obsession. I wonder why she hadn't given him a ride home. This made me feel good, like I had one up on her because I was there when he needed me. I guess the fact that this made me sound as if I'd jump off a cliff if he needed me too, even after what he did, didn't occur to me just then. After a quick "bye" without that kiss on the cheek I'd grown so accustomed to, I started for home thinking of breakups and mess ups, what had went wrong, and how I could've prevented it. I've thought through the scenarios hundreds of times since that night, and today was no different. If only I'd had been less clingy, or more clingy, or something. Maybe if I shopped at all the right stores or wore my hair different. Oh well, I told myself. It's over, he's moved on. I promised myself I'd do the same.
"How can I get her to look at me like that?" The question of the century, I thought as I said it. "Stop trying so hard man!" Justin always suprised me with how dumb he sounded. I mean he looked smart, but then he always opened his mouth. He was a walking example of "don't judge a book by it's cover." "I mean, look at him. He's just talking to her, nothing big. Look at the way his arm rests on the back of her chair. Effortless. Not too close, but just close enough so that she knows it's there. And the way he makes her laugh, he's not trying to be funny, he just is." "How can he be doing all that without trying?" I had to know. "I guess it's just something you're born with man." The times have become more and more abundant when I find myself questioning why Justin was my best friend. I mean, he wasn't very good when it came to supporting a guy. "Some guys have it, and some guys don't." "So I guess you're saying I don't?" "Sorry man, you haven't got a chance. Not with a girl like that. Heck, I don't even have a chance with her!" That was saying something. Justin knew every girl on the face of this planet! And has seen about half of 'em naked. "But the new kid does?" I wondered how this was fair. "Yup." Man of few words. "But how? Why?" I had questions, I needed answers! "Don't ask me man. I'm still trying to figure out how he's all of a sudden ahead in the chick-game, when he's only been here for two weeks." Maybe because you call it the chick-game, I thought.
Everyday it's the same. He packs his lunch in the same kind of brown bag. Inside is a sub sandwhich (yes it hasto be on sub bread) with turkey and cheese and three cucumbers in a separate bag. The three cucumbers won't fit on the sandwhich without hanging out, so everyday he bites one in half and puts it in the middle. After his sandwhich and bottle of water, he eats an apple and carrot sticks. I can't decide if I've found comfort in consistency or annoyance in his ever constant routines.
We're behind the scenes in more ways than one. I've just finished my last scene and I'm sitting so close to that boy I'm able to breathe in every fiber of his being. He's still in costume, a funny gray wig with a stick-on moustache that makes me laugh. After I finished my 4 lines, he told me I rocked. Was that smile because he's glad the play went well, or because he thinks I'm looking pretty good in this skirt and sweater? So we're sitting there, and Patrick has finally stopped flirting with me long enough to wander off in search of a beveradge, leaving me and the leading man alone. I'm hoping that he'll make a move- nay, praying!! So after we've run out of witty things to say to each other about how bad the other actors are, we're sitting in silence. At the exact same moment we start to say each other's names. "Brian.." "Hannah.." Then we both stop. "You go first," I suggest. Well, I certainly didn't expect what came next. Not another joke or well placed compliment, but a kiss! Right on the lips. Now I thought he'd been holding my hand pretty tight during prayer that morning but he had a girlfriend that he constantly talked about. Was he letting me know that he has a girlfriend and doesn't want anything with me besides a behind the scenes smooch? Was he trying to convince not only me? Stop thinking and start kissing back! My mind screams at my mouth. Just as the kiss is getting good, Patrick walks in. Of course. "Uhh sorry," he stammers and walks away backward, the hurt oh so apparent in his eyes. What can I say? Brian's got that older guy that has a girlfriend and can play the guitar mystique. No girl past puberty could escape that bod. The mood being ruined, we sit in awkward silence. I sigh.
As I'm driving home from barely seeing you I look at the cars around me & can't help but wonder about the people inside. Where are they going & where are they coming from? Who did they go to see? Are they happy? When's the last time they cried? Then comes the weird stuff. Do they always match their socks? How many showers do they take a week? What kind of shampoo do they use? But maybe that's just me. So anyways, I'm making up personalities & lifestyles for all the people around me, & then I start to think of him. Like that's anything new. Everything reminds me of you these days. Now I don't have to wonder where you're coming from or where you're going, because I know you're still on your way home. But I do wonder about the other things. Do you cry when you watch sad things on TV? Have you ever been in love? When you looked at me & smiled was it because I'd just said something hilarious or was it because just maybe you thought I looked kind of pretty tonight? It's time like these, when I'm alone in my car, with the country music down low, that I think of him, & wonder if he's thinking of me too. Heck, if he's ever thought of me! The way he says my name makes me giggle. Do I do anything that causes his heart to flutter? Gosh, I hope so.
Freshmen had their orientation today. They’ll be told what lunches start when, how much time they have between classes, all the lame school rules about hats and chewing gum. What they should tell them is what high school is really about. What they really should say is, “Welcome to high school. Just a bunch of mixed up kids wandering around trying to figure out who they are and what to do with their lives, while getting drunk, high, or knocked up each weekend. All the girls hate each other, either a hidden secret hate, or an out there in your face angst. The dislike comes from many reasons, but nine out of ten of those reasons are guys. She doesn't like that other chick because that other chick hit on her man. Or she doesn't like her because she got dumped for her. Then come the more pathetic reasons. They hate each other because yesterday they wore the same pair of shoes and that one claims she had them first so the other one must have copied off her. Then there's the boys. You never really know what any of them thinking, except that it's about girls or their next game, kegger, or meal. They'll cheat, lie, and look cute for booty, unless of course it clashes with their football schedule. None of those jocks will be that hot five years after graduating because they threw their whole life into sports, spending no time on the rest of their lives. So that's high school. The glamorous kids having all the fun while the ones who just don't make the cut get to stay home on the weekends, wondering why they aren't "in." Just a bunch of mixed up kids who are hung up on themselves, and how they can look better than the person standing next to them. Call me cynical, but I'm just calling it how I see it. If you're not mean, you're going to get eaten up and spit out.”
She's one of those girls, you know, the girls that are just like every other girl. Those girls that have names like Sara, Melissa, or Amanda. They wear those white and pink shoes with their matching pink sweaters. They carry around their books, lacking in backpack. I guess they couldn't find a pink one that was fuzzy enough. You can only tell them apart by what boyfriend they have, since they've had the same ones since seventh grade. They're always with the same kind of guys, too. Guys named Andrew, Tim, or Nick who call them everynight and write them cheesy poems that they just eat up with a spoon. The guys who are on the sports teams, but don't really play a lot. All these girls' online profiles have stars and overquoted quotes. And they're online a lot. They get those typical C average grades due to writing notes to friends during class on their smelly pink paper with their colored glittery pens. As a result of never paying attention in english class, they say "ain't" and frequently use "seen" when they should be saying "saw." You never have to worry about these girls. They sit quietly at football games and spend all night on their cell phones. Keeping to themselves means they'll never be homecoming queen or anyting amazing like that, but their uncanny ability to color coordinate keeps them out of the loser section of the cafeteria.
wow. i had my first encounter with my long time love, let's call him #21, since that is indeed his basketball number. so #21 & i have shared the same classroom on more than one occasion, but i've never plucked up the courage to actually talk to him, simply admired his glory from afar. well those days are behind me now because today we actually exchanged words! don't get your hopes to high, it's nothing like you'd expect. i ran into him, said "ooop!" & he said "oh my bad." i swooned!! i was all smiles for the rest of the day, telling erryone i came in contact with that i, i! have been spoken to by my beloved, #21.