Author: Gnothi Seauton PM
Assumptions.Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - Words: 460 - Published: 10-03-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3062773
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I met a girl. She was taller with those black heels, blonder than most blondes, with a fashion sense that prevented her from seeming at all trampy. I wonder how I fell in love with someone so far apart from who I was at the time, not to mention who I am now. This girl and the brief time we spent together somehow remains an important part of my adolescence. She changed the world for me. Anyone can do that.
The night we met we were both highly inebriated. We had become those drunks that nobody wanted to be around - embarrassing. Left alone, we were intensely amused by one another. With her heels I fell shorter than her, and with her hair up so crazy I looked a lot shorter than I actually was. It came as a relief when she looked towards me rather than down to me, as many girls at this place did. I mean, so what? A geek goes out to clubs with his fake ID because none of the girls at his high school want to date him? So what if his first kiss came from a drunken, probably-prostitute? Oh, no, don't get me wrong - that wasn't this particular girl. This girl's name was Satine. I only remember this because she wrote it on my arm in glittering purple ink along with her phone number, which I wasn't able to make out the following morning. Luckily she was able to make out mine, and, miracle of miracles, she used it!
She wasn't from around here. She never told me where she traveled from, but seemed happy that I wanted to know. She was living alone with a basset hound named Basset Case, and was working as a waitress in a fancy restaurant to make ends meet.
Our last date (two weeks after our drunken introduction) was not at a restaurant, nor were any of the others. In fact, they were all in my basement. Like elementary school kids, I invited her over to watch movies and play video games. That evening we did that, and then as it became darker, I held her in my arms and asked her why she had decided to call me at all, as most girls never did.
She spoke one word. I blinked then pushed her off the couch, appalled.
"So I was a last resort?!" I yelled furiously, "A last resort!"
Satine ran home and never called again.
In retrospect, years later, what I learned then of society and girls and, most of all, judgment is invaluable. I regret calling her out on that day, and I pray she found someone then wiser than I to keep her in good company.