Don't Let Go
This is #10, which is a good start. I'm a little worried these things might start deteriorating in quality over time, but so far I think they're holding up, and I haven't run out of different things to talk about in each one yet, so that's working out for me. I'm thinking 100. If I can get that many, I can maybe get a book going. Maybe that would make a difference. Maybe that woud help.
Don't Let Go
I’m just not all that brave. I’d been dancing around her for about a month or so, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask her anything. I can face down a lot of things, I can protect what’s mine, and fiercely… but that five feet of woman broke me down and didn’t let me work. She didn’t even know she was doing it.
It was her handshake that first did it. Sure, she was pretty. Prettiest one there, at the place we worked. But it was the handshake that really did it. I was introduced to her by our boss like she was nothing, like she was just another of the chicks who worked the weekend and who I, working during the week, wouldn’t be seeing a lot of. I came to hate that. She stuck out her hand, the only one who did, and that little thing gripped me perfect. Confident, sure. Perfect. She had me then, by the hand, at the very start. The first time I laid eyes on her. And I hadn’t been with a woman for a while, due to disinterest and lack of motivation. I hadn’t cared about being alone until then.
Like I said, though, we had opposing shifts. I’d hope each time going into work she’d be there that day, that I could watch her go about her day and admire her. Didn’t happen all that often, but when it did I latched on to her. In the very beginning, before I’d seen her more than three times around the office, maybe, she came walking by me at my post in her civvies, no uniform like I had on (she never had the chance to hate the way I dressed until she was already with me), and waved to me. Made my damn day, I can tell you that.
She was wearing a pink shirt and jeans. Her hair was longer then, but her bangs were still around. Summer came, and she started working during the week and after a while we started talking. I would confide in some shithead who worked there that I had a thing for her, that I thought her skin was perfect and she was just about the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen. He’d goad me on, but I never respected that guy, so I didn’t take his advice. I just needed something to talk to about her. She was really amazing, then, in the beginning.
We were talking, once, and she said she didn’t like hairy guys. I told her I was pretty hairy. We laughed about it. She felt my stomach, and shrieked saying she could feel the hair underneath. I mocked offense and walked away, though it wasn’t all mock. I went over to a couple other people who worked there, people I stand if I had to, and asked them about the hair issue. We talked for a bit, and suddenly she was there with us, having walked up as we were in the middle of the who-actually-dislikes-body-hair poll. She smiled at me and said,
“I don’t mean I wouldn’t go out with someone who had chest hair. Besides, that means we could sit in the tub and shave it together. It would be cute.”
I didn’t figure it out then. Fuck we’re thick, us boys.
Again, dancing. Shucking. Trying to get close to her and being too scared to do anything else about it. We had our picture taken together with a few other employees and one of the shift leads put his arm around her. I figured they were together. Later, she told me they weren’t. Well, that was good to hear.
Finally, there were four of us. She was there, a friend of hers (who she would later fall out with, fickle thing that she was) and shithead. We were talking about a movie that had come out recently. I said I’d like to see it, she said she’d like to see it too. Shithead almost asked her for me, right there, but I managed to intercept him before I would have had to deal with that little crippling indignity. I said,
“Would you want to go see it with me?”
She smiled, turned red, and laughingly talked about how it’s strange to ask people to go to movies with you at the office. Her friend laughed, and left, and shithead laughed, and left. After they were gone, we talked for a bit, her and me, and I explained myself, and she said she just didn’t want her friend to have been there when someone asked her. That it shouldn’t be everyone’s business. I said okay, and was walking away, catching up to shithead, when he asked me if she’d said yes.
I didn’t really know.
I walked back, and saw her light up when she caught sight of me. I felt great. I asked her again, in serious and alone this time, and she said yes. She told me to get her number off the office list.
I’d been told by a girl once to do that, and had been blown off. Therefore, in the back of my mind, there was the chance that she was fucking with me. That this whole thing was just her trying to get out of the embarrassment of having to say no. Just the same, I felt good. I liked her, a lot. I liked her from the first time I saw her.
And when I called the number, she answered. When I asked if she could hang out with me, she said she couldn’t that day, because of her family or something (that became a running theme with her, everything taking precedence). I asked about the next day, she said yes.
And we actually did go out that time. I was taking her to see a movie, and I pulled up to her house and couldn’t work the gate to get to her front door. I called her cell phone again, asked her how to work it, and she said she’d come out. In the car she explained that her parents didn’t want to meet anyone their daughter was dating because of some drama with her brother and his fiancé. At the time, I couldn’t take my eyes off her, it didn’t matter what she was saying. And I was trying to drive.
I took her to some retro restaurant (which, one more notch in the woodwork, eventually fell out of favor with her), took her to a movie, and drove around with her for a while talking about art and Marcel Duchamp and so many things you don’t find in so many people. So many things that I miss. So many things that I missed for a long time before we split, I guess.
We never did, by the way. Sit in the tub and shave my chest together. The scum would have been disgusting, anyhow.
If you asked her, she’d say that the start were those talks we had, or that awkward instigation around our co-workers. She might even say it was our first kiss, she held out long enough, or the car crash that really made her care about me. She might say it had all been motivated by one of these ridiculous, little things.
But it was that handshake. From the very start. I grabbed on and I never let go.
I still haven’t.
Don't Let Go
I’m just not all that brave. I’d been dancing around her for about a month or so, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask her anything. I can face down a lot of things, I can protect what’s mine, and fiercely… but that five feet of woman broke me down and didn’t let me work. She didn’t even know she was doing it.
It was her handshake that first did it. Sure, she was pretty. Prettiest one there, at the place we worked. But it was the handshake that really did it. I was introduced to her by our boss like she was nothing, like she was just another of the chicks who worked the weekend and who I, working during the week, wouldn’t be seeing a lot of. I came to hate that. She stuck out her hand, the only one who did, and that little thing gripped me perfect. Confident, sure. Perfect. She had me then, by the hand, at the very start. The first time I laid eyes on her. And I hadn’t been with a woman for a while, due to disinterest and lack of motivation. I hadn’t cared about being alone until then.
Like I said, though, we had opposing shifts. I’d hope each time going into work she’d be there that day, that I could watch her go about her day and admire her. Didn’t happen all that often, but when it did I latched on to her. In the very beginning, before I’d seen her more than three times around the office, maybe, she came walking by me at my post in her civvies, no uniform like I had on (she never had the chance to hate the way I dressed until she was already with me), and waved to me. Made my damn day, I can tell you that.
She was wearing a pink shirt and jeans. Her hair was longer then, but her bangs were still around. Summer came, and she started working during the week and after a while we started talking. I would confide in some shithead who worked there that I had a thing for her, that I thought her skin was perfect and she was just about the prettiest little thing I’d ever seen. He’d goad me on, but I never respected that guy, so I didn’t take his advice. I just needed something to talk to about her. She was really amazing, then, in the beginning.
We were talking, once, and she said she didn’t like hairy guys. I told her I was pretty hairy. We laughed about it. She felt my stomach, and shrieked saying she could feel the hair underneath. I mocked offense and walked away, though it wasn’t all mock. I went over to a couple other people who worked there, people I stand if I had to, and asked them about the hair issue. We talked for a bit, and suddenly she was there with us, having walked up as we were in the middle of the who-actually-dislikes-body-hair poll. She smiled at me and said,
“I don’t mean I wouldn’t go out with someone who had chest hair. Besides, that means we could sit in the tub and shave it together. It would be cute.”
I didn’t figure it out then. Fuck we’re thick, us boys.
Again, dancing. Shucking. Trying to get close to her and being too scared to do anything else about it. We had our picture taken together with a few other employees and one of the shift leads put his arm around her. I figured they were together. Later, she told me they weren’t. Well, that was good to hear.
Finally, there were four of us. She was there, a friend of hers (who she would later fall out with, fickle thing that she was) and shithead. We were talking about a movie that had come out recently. I said I’d like to see it, she said she’d like to see it too. Shithead almost asked her for me, right there, but I managed to intercept him before I would have had to deal with that little crippling indignity. I said,
“Would you want to go see it with me?”
She smiled, turned red, and laughingly talked about how it’s strange to ask people to go to movies with you at the office. Her friend laughed, and left, and shithead laughed, and left. After they were gone, we talked for a bit, her and me, and I explained myself, and she said she just didn’t want her friend to have been there when someone asked her. That it shouldn’t be everyone’s business. I said okay, and was walking away, catching up to shithead, when he asked me if she’d said yes.
I didn’t really know.
I walked back, and saw her light up when she caught sight of me. I felt great. I asked her again, in serious and alone this time, and she said yes. She told me to get her number off the office list.
I’d been told by a girl once to do that, and had been blown off. Therefore, in the back of my mind, there was the chance that she was fucking with me. That this whole thing was just her trying to get out of the embarrassment of having to say no. Just the same, I felt good. I liked her, a lot. I liked her from the first time I saw her.
And when I called the number, she answered. When I asked if she could hang out with me, she said she couldn’t that day, because of her family or something (that became a running theme with her, everything taking precedence). I asked about the next day, she said yes.
And we actually did go out that time. I was taking her to see a movie, and I pulled up to her house and couldn’t work the gate to get to her front door. I called her cell phone again, asked her how to work it, and she said she’d come out. In the car she explained that her parents didn’t want to meet anyone their daughter was dating because of some drama with her brother and his fiancé. At the time, I couldn’t take my eyes off her, it didn’t matter what she was saying. And I was trying to drive.
I took her to some retro restaurant (which, one more notch in the woodwork, eventually fell out of favor with her), took her to a movie, and drove around with her for a while talking about art and Marcel Duchamp and so many things you don’t find in so many people. So many things that I miss. So many things that I missed for a long time before we split, I guess.
We never did, by the way. Sit in the tub and shave my chest together. The scum would have been disgusting, anyhow.
If you asked her, she’d say that the start were those talks we had, or that awkward instigation around our co-workers. She might even say it was our first kiss, she held out long enough, or the car crash that really made her care about me. She might say it had all been motivated by one of these ridiculous, little things.
But it was that handshake. From the very start. I grabbed on and I never let go.
I still haven’t.
posted by DeadLanguage at 1:32 AM
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