I always wondered what it would be like to have someone to love and be
loved in return. I'd watch Gordie and Mary Louise walk down the hallways
hand in hand, smiling at one another, kiss each other sweetly right before
parting. Even goofing off and being able to have that security that there
is always someone there that makes you happy. I always wondered these
things...but I had never experienced them. I didn't know what was wrong with
me. Was there something wrong with me? Did I miss a memo of some sort? The
questions ate me from the inside out, haunted my dreamless sleep, and made
me tired and angry and confused.
I was afraid, flat out afraid. I didn't need a guy to make me happy; I didn't want to be dependent on anyone but myself. I always thought that a guy should compliment you, not complete you. It was my way of living...then again that was somewhat easy to convince myself in that perspective. No guy had even wanted anything more from me than friendship or the confider. I was seriously starting to wonder about things and I often compared myself to other girls. Even the hideous girls in my school who never bathed and seemed to find love. Would I ever know what it felt like to hold a boy's hand or have him kiss me on my lips?
I suppose they thought I was somewhat like a guy, because I didn't dress like a girl. I thought about it in this perspective: Would I want a guy that dressed pretty and wore makeup? No. So then I supposed guys didn't want girls who wore jeans and T-shirts, no make up and their hair tied back. Maybe when they looked at me they saw more guy than girl. And that really did scare me.
Maybe if I tried dressing different, or talking softer. What if I painted my nails pretty pink instead of rock blue? What if I wore flower earrings instead of studded black things I found in my mom's old dresser? Maybe if I glossed my lips or wore high-heels and a skirt I would attract attention. I tried these things when no one was home...I found that the inflated cup bra was itchy and the high heels hurt my toes. I just couldn't do it. It wasn't me.
So...would anyone ever love me for me? Was I not good enough for anyone? I always thought that everyone had at least someone out there who loved them...beauty was in the eye of the beholder. I suppose I was wrong. Studying my face closely, I determined I wasn't so bad. My eyes could do with some shadow and my cheeks would look thinner with some blush...but other than that I was okay looking. I didn't really mind my body. My shoulders were broad, which I learned to like. They curved somewhat nicely. I started to notice in the sixth grade that my hips curved outward...more so than other girls' hips, to my dismay. My waist was wide, but it wasn't fat. To my surprise, my stomach wasn't all that bad, save for when I ate a lot, and then it puffed out more. But when I would wake up in the morning it was flat and I wished I could keep it like that forever.
My legs were probably my favorite part about me. They weren't extra long, but they were shapely and feminine. I would look at them in the mirror and wish I had enough nerve to wear a skirt with high-heels. I bet Chris would notice me then...I liked how my thighs didn't wrinkle like other girl's thighs...my mom called it cellulite. She said it didn't run in our family and that I was very lucky. I didn't really know what she meant, but when I saw the pinched fat of other girls' legs, I was happy with my own. Though no one ever got to see the fat-less legs, I enjoyed dressing up at home.
At home...that's when I'd let my hair down and wear makeup. No one could laugh at me when I was alone in my room...I would put a ribbon in my hair and add rouge to my lips and I would feel pretty. Oh so pretty. (sorry, I couldn't help myself...Westside story syndrome.) But I wouldn't dare go out in public like that. No. People would laugh, point, think I was a poser. I even felt much more comfortable in my sneakers and jeans. It was just nice for a change once in a while, you know?
A change...that's what I needed. Only thing was...I couldn't change. I was me. And I feared I would never stop being me.
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"Chris?"
"Hm?"
"Er...how old were you when you...erm...got your first kiss?"
Chris looked up at me and smiled lazily, his eyes full of laughter and amusement. It wasn't ridiculing laughter, more like playful interested laughter. I, on the other hand, was burning from the inside out, my face the color of crimson. I didn't know what possessed me to ask that question, but my curiosity got the best of me. It may have been random, but it was just an innocent question.
"Let's see," Chris said, stroking his chin in mock concentration. He switched the basketball perched in his left arm to his right arm, and tapped his foot on the asphalt court lightly. "It was at Olivia Benvolio's fourteenth birthday party. During spin the bottle. So I must've been thirteen or fourteen. Yeah, sounds about right."
I rolled my eyes and took the ball quickly from his hands, dribbled up the court in the old park, and shot. I missed of course, but I let the ball bounce passed the swings and watched it go.
"That doesn't count," I said, not bothering to get the ball. I walked back over to him and stood in front of him. I crossed my arms—my way of feeling comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. "I mean...when was your first real kiss? Like, with someone you liked and it was special?"
Chris walked over to where the ball lay, picked it up and cradled it in his arms. He walked over towards me and stood directly in front of me, way surpassing my zone of personal space. I immediately backed up a few paces, and Chris smirked at this. I blushed a deep red and cursed my pale skin.
"Michelle Gordon," Chris said, smiling distantly and reminiscently. "You remember her? I loved her so much...that was back in sophomore year. Yeah, that sounds about right. She was like my first real girl friend, remember?"
I looked back at him. "I remember. You two were inseparable."
Chris nodded. "Yeah. She was my first real kiss. It was in her backyard, on her swings."
I nodded and took the ball gingerly from his arms. I didn't know why I really brought the subject up, but I was immediately regretting it. I didn't know why I put myself in these uncomfortable situations. I was just setting myself up for heartbreak.
"When was your first kiss?"
The question rang through my ears and Chris looked at me curiously. I immediately began to fidget—always when I was about to lie. What was I going to say? That I was still a prude? I had never really kissed a guy before...never. I felt suddenly immature, like in my youth and Chris was my elder. What was I going to say? I was afraid, embarrassed, all of the above...but I wasn't going to tell the truth. I couldn't look like a fool.
"Uh—um..." Stop stuttering you fool! "Er...right, so who's winning this game anyway?" I changed the subject for better lack of words. Chris smirked and took the ball out of my arms and began to dribble, though I knew he could see right through me. He always could see everything I was thinking...I hated and loved it at the same time.
"You are. For once," he muttered, shooting the ball and scoring it through the hoop. I grimaced. He really did have a natural talent for basketball, and it unnerved me. How could he perfect so many things, while I could barely stand up straight?
I took the ball from his strong hands and positioned myself to shoot. "You know," I said, arching an eyebrow as the ball traveled from the palm of my hand into the beat-up net. "Isn't funny how the greatest writers of all time, such as Shakespeare and Charles Dickens, write these amazing love stories, yet their own lives were fucked up. I never got that."
Chris shrugged his lanky shoulders and held the ball under his arm. "I never really thought about it that way...hm...I guess you're right. I guess they only know how they would want it, they dream about the perfections of love, yet they don't experience it."
The irony of this conversation actually made me laugh out loud. Chris raised his eyebrows. "What?"
I giggled and shook my head. "Nothing. Er—it's kind of getting late."
The sun was beginning to set and the cool air began to make me cold. I looked at Chris—Saturday nights we always played basketball at this old court, it was a tradition since we were twelve. No matter what, basketball on Saturday night. Sure, Chris missed a few nights, dates and so forth, but overall it was something I would never forget about my adolescence.
Chris checked his watch. "It's still pretty early. What do you feel up to doing?"
I shrugged—I was broke, so going out was out of the question. "Want to come back to my house? My mom just bought new ice-cream and cookies."
Chris laughed. "I'm there."
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"I'm bored."
Chris looked at me with a quirked eyebrow as I lay on my bed, fiddling with the end of my spoon. Chris and I had officially eaten the most ice-cream in the world. Or so it felt like it, I felt like I was about to explode. Chris popped a cookie into his mouth and sat on my desk. Just looking at him sitting there like that momentarily took my breath away. I had trouble breathing and it wasn't anything to do with the fact I had guzzled down a row of chocolate chip cookies. He was so beautiful, so perfect that I felt like the luckiest person in the world to have him in the same room as me.
"And what do you propose I do about it?" Chris said, looking through a few of my record collections. I sighed.
"Talk to me. Do something—this is so much more boring than having you beat me at basketball."
Chris laughed and abandoned my records. He leaned his head against my bureau and put his hands in his pockets. "It's better than being at my place. Anything is."
I didn't know what to say so I chose to say nothing. I looked out of my window at the dark sky and wondered for a moment if there was someone far away looking at the same sky as me. Maybe I was wrong all along—maybe I wasn't in love with Chris. Maybe I was just in love with the idea of Chris. The idea of having someone like Chris. Chris might never love me the way I love him—that was just something I had to deal with. I wondered if there was someone out there for me, who would love me for me and not the size of my bra.
But then why when he looked into my eyes did I feel so complete—like there was magic in those eyes, a magic that would be with me always. Why did he give me butterflies? Why did I get sudden urges to touch him, to kiss him? Was it truly love—or was it a stupid teenage girl infatuation?
"If you do not stop staring at me I will bite you," Chris said. I smirked and blinked a few times, then sat up on my bed.
"Why are you friends with me Chris?" I asked. Chris shrugged his shoulders.
"Because I feel bad for you."
I hit him with my pillow and he laughed. "Kidding, kidding. I don't know—I just am. I always have been. Because you're funny and kind and deep down you really care about everyone else besides yourself." He smirked and I glared at him, but slightly touched by his words.
"I'm sorry I've been bitchy to you lately," I said as he came over and sat next to me. "I've had a lot on my mind and it's annoying."
Chris shrugged. "You're always bitchy, so it doesn't matter." I frowned and he pushed me gently as he grabbed a deck of cards from my side table. "And stop frowning—I like when you smile."
I immediately smiled.
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Okay, I'm so, so, so sorry that was such a dud of a chapter! It took me almost a whole entire week to write, mainly due to my lack of time! I have been SO incredibly busy. I haven't been leaving school until 10 at night because of play practice, and the show just opened yesterday (Friday) so it's been crazy. I have another performance tonight, so I was writing this in a bit of a rush. Anywho, here's to some shout-outs.
StormShadow21: Heylo there! I'm so glad you like this story...I love how you just rant and rant in your reviews! It's so funny and lengthy reviews are so cool! I wish I could write such long reviews, but I'm not a girl of many words, I tend to say what I want, how I want in a few words, you know? It's annoying, really, to me, but here's to trying to match your length!! I think we should get an award for how many synonyms we can come up with for 'Flyaway hair'...that is so funny. River Phoenix is so beautiful and his hair is his greatest asset! How can someone just not LOVE it? It's perfect, sexy, yum. Yes, there I go again with my simple words. But hey, I'm trying to make this as long as I can lol. I can't wait until we start to co-write. I'm really in love with DOGFIGHT and the plotline; it's very original and unique. So as soon as I find the time, I'll email you with a bunch of ideas and whatnot, and as soon as you find time we can start outlining/writing the story! It should be fun. I've never co-written anything, though I have read some. My favorite had to be 'And Then There Was You' by ShortStack and FishFace. It's a newsies story, and it's so bloody good. Okay anyways...I hope you liked this chapter even though it was rather dingy. I'm just so exhausted from never being home and always on the run, it's beginning to get to me you know? And I still need to find time for my homework...anyway continue to review and don't forget to update Christine Sixteen!
SleepIsFun: I'm glad you can relate to this story! Well, sort of, I mean it is a bit sad this whole story. I can relate to it too, unfortunately, and it's depressing. But it's nice to write it out, showing how true it is. It's a pain I have to agree with you when you start to like your 'best friend.' Lol...it sucks, but it does happen. Anyways! Thanks for another review—I'm hoping this story will touch people who can relate. At least that's what I'm aiming for!
Also thanks to Sophie, beautyqueen321, CiCi, Danihum, To Lazy To Log In, BridgetLynn, and lostgirl. Thanks to anyone else who reviewed, I think I got all of ya!!
I was afraid, flat out afraid. I didn't need a guy to make me happy; I didn't want to be dependent on anyone but myself. I always thought that a guy should compliment you, not complete you. It was my way of living...then again that was somewhat easy to convince myself in that perspective. No guy had even wanted anything more from me than friendship or the confider. I was seriously starting to wonder about things and I often compared myself to other girls. Even the hideous girls in my school who never bathed and seemed to find love. Would I ever know what it felt like to hold a boy's hand or have him kiss me on my lips?
I suppose they thought I was somewhat like a guy, because I didn't dress like a girl. I thought about it in this perspective: Would I want a guy that dressed pretty and wore makeup? No. So then I supposed guys didn't want girls who wore jeans and T-shirts, no make up and their hair tied back. Maybe when they looked at me they saw more guy than girl. And that really did scare me.
Maybe if I tried dressing different, or talking softer. What if I painted my nails pretty pink instead of rock blue? What if I wore flower earrings instead of studded black things I found in my mom's old dresser? Maybe if I glossed my lips or wore high-heels and a skirt I would attract attention. I tried these things when no one was home...I found that the inflated cup bra was itchy and the high heels hurt my toes. I just couldn't do it. It wasn't me.
So...would anyone ever love me for me? Was I not good enough for anyone? I always thought that everyone had at least someone out there who loved them...beauty was in the eye of the beholder. I suppose I was wrong. Studying my face closely, I determined I wasn't so bad. My eyes could do with some shadow and my cheeks would look thinner with some blush...but other than that I was okay looking. I didn't really mind my body. My shoulders were broad, which I learned to like. They curved somewhat nicely. I started to notice in the sixth grade that my hips curved outward...more so than other girls' hips, to my dismay. My waist was wide, but it wasn't fat. To my surprise, my stomach wasn't all that bad, save for when I ate a lot, and then it puffed out more. But when I would wake up in the morning it was flat and I wished I could keep it like that forever.
My legs were probably my favorite part about me. They weren't extra long, but they were shapely and feminine. I would look at them in the mirror and wish I had enough nerve to wear a skirt with high-heels. I bet Chris would notice me then...I liked how my thighs didn't wrinkle like other girl's thighs...my mom called it cellulite. She said it didn't run in our family and that I was very lucky. I didn't really know what she meant, but when I saw the pinched fat of other girls' legs, I was happy with my own. Though no one ever got to see the fat-less legs, I enjoyed dressing up at home.
At home...that's when I'd let my hair down and wear makeup. No one could laugh at me when I was alone in my room...I would put a ribbon in my hair and add rouge to my lips and I would feel pretty. Oh so pretty. (sorry, I couldn't help myself...Westside story syndrome.) But I wouldn't dare go out in public like that. No. People would laugh, point, think I was a poser. I even felt much more comfortable in my sneakers and jeans. It was just nice for a change once in a while, you know?
A change...that's what I needed. Only thing was...I couldn't change. I was me. And I feared I would never stop being me.
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"Chris?"
"Hm?"
"Er...how old were you when you...erm...got your first kiss?"
Chris looked up at me and smiled lazily, his eyes full of laughter and amusement. It wasn't ridiculing laughter, more like playful interested laughter. I, on the other hand, was burning from the inside out, my face the color of crimson. I didn't know what possessed me to ask that question, but my curiosity got the best of me. It may have been random, but it was just an innocent question.
"Let's see," Chris said, stroking his chin in mock concentration. He switched the basketball perched in his left arm to his right arm, and tapped his foot on the asphalt court lightly. "It was at Olivia Benvolio's fourteenth birthday party. During spin the bottle. So I must've been thirteen or fourteen. Yeah, sounds about right."
I rolled my eyes and took the ball quickly from his hands, dribbled up the court in the old park, and shot. I missed of course, but I let the ball bounce passed the swings and watched it go.
"That doesn't count," I said, not bothering to get the ball. I walked back over to him and stood in front of him. I crossed my arms—my way of feeling comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. "I mean...when was your first real kiss? Like, with someone you liked and it was special?"
Chris walked over to where the ball lay, picked it up and cradled it in his arms. He walked over towards me and stood directly in front of me, way surpassing my zone of personal space. I immediately backed up a few paces, and Chris smirked at this. I blushed a deep red and cursed my pale skin.
"Michelle Gordon," Chris said, smiling distantly and reminiscently. "You remember her? I loved her so much...that was back in sophomore year. Yeah, that sounds about right. She was like my first real girl friend, remember?"
I looked back at him. "I remember. You two were inseparable."
Chris nodded. "Yeah. She was my first real kiss. It was in her backyard, on her swings."
I nodded and took the ball gingerly from his arms. I didn't know why I really brought the subject up, but I was immediately regretting it. I didn't know why I put myself in these uncomfortable situations. I was just setting myself up for heartbreak.
"When was your first kiss?"
The question rang through my ears and Chris looked at me curiously. I immediately began to fidget—always when I was about to lie. What was I going to say? That I was still a prude? I had never really kissed a guy before...never. I felt suddenly immature, like in my youth and Chris was my elder. What was I going to say? I was afraid, embarrassed, all of the above...but I wasn't going to tell the truth. I couldn't look like a fool.
"Uh—um..." Stop stuttering you fool! "Er...right, so who's winning this game anyway?" I changed the subject for better lack of words. Chris smirked and took the ball out of my arms and began to dribble, though I knew he could see right through me. He always could see everything I was thinking...I hated and loved it at the same time.
"You are. For once," he muttered, shooting the ball and scoring it through the hoop. I grimaced. He really did have a natural talent for basketball, and it unnerved me. How could he perfect so many things, while I could barely stand up straight?
I took the ball from his strong hands and positioned myself to shoot. "You know," I said, arching an eyebrow as the ball traveled from the palm of my hand into the beat-up net. "Isn't funny how the greatest writers of all time, such as Shakespeare and Charles Dickens, write these amazing love stories, yet their own lives were fucked up. I never got that."
Chris shrugged his lanky shoulders and held the ball under his arm. "I never really thought about it that way...hm...I guess you're right. I guess they only know how they would want it, they dream about the perfections of love, yet they don't experience it."
The irony of this conversation actually made me laugh out loud. Chris raised his eyebrows. "What?"
I giggled and shook my head. "Nothing. Er—it's kind of getting late."
The sun was beginning to set and the cool air began to make me cold. I looked at Chris—Saturday nights we always played basketball at this old court, it was a tradition since we were twelve. No matter what, basketball on Saturday night. Sure, Chris missed a few nights, dates and so forth, but overall it was something I would never forget about my adolescence.
Chris checked his watch. "It's still pretty early. What do you feel up to doing?"
I shrugged—I was broke, so going out was out of the question. "Want to come back to my house? My mom just bought new ice-cream and cookies."
Chris laughed. "I'm there."
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"I'm bored."
Chris looked at me with a quirked eyebrow as I lay on my bed, fiddling with the end of my spoon. Chris and I had officially eaten the most ice-cream in the world. Or so it felt like it, I felt like I was about to explode. Chris popped a cookie into his mouth and sat on my desk. Just looking at him sitting there like that momentarily took my breath away. I had trouble breathing and it wasn't anything to do with the fact I had guzzled down a row of chocolate chip cookies. He was so beautiful, so perfect that I felt like the luckiest person in the world to have him in the same room as me.
"And what do you propose I do about it?" Chris said, looking through a few of my record collections. I sighed.
"Talk to me. Do something—this is so much more boring than having you beat me at basketball."
Chris laughed and abandoned my records. He leaned his head against my bureau and put his hands in his pockets. "It's better than being at my place. Anything is."
I didn't know what to say so I chose to say nothing. I looked out of my window at the dark sky and wondered for a moment if there was someone far away looking at the same sky as me. Maybe I was wrong all along—maybe I wasn't in love with Chris. Maybe I was just in love with the idea of Chris. The idea of having someone like Chris. Chris might never love me the way I love him—that was just something I had to deal with. I wondered if there was someone out there for me, who would love me for me and not the size of my bra.
But then why when he looked into my eyes did I feel so complete—like there was magic in those eyes, a magic that would be with me always. Why did he give me butterflies? Why did I get sudden urges to touch him, to kiss him? Was it truly love—or was it a stupid teenage girl infatuation?
"If you do not stop staring at me I will bite you," Chris said. I smirked and blinked a few times, then sat up on my bed.
"Why are you friends with me Chris?" I asked. Chris shrugged his shoulders.
"Because I feel bad for you."
I hit him with my pillow and he laughed. "Kidding, kidding. I don't know—I just am. I always have been. Because you're funny and kind and deep down you really care about everyone else besides yourself." He smirked and I glared at him, but slightly touched by his words.
"I'm sorry I've been bitchy to you lately," I said as he came over and sat next to me. "I've had a lot on my mind and it's annoying."
Chris shrugged. "You're always bitchy, so it doesn't matter." I frowned and he pushed me gently as he grabbed a deck of cards from my side table. "And stop frowning—I like when you smile."
I immediately smiled.
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Okay, I'm so, so, so sorry that was such a dud of a chapter! It took me almost a whole entire week to write, mainly due to my lack of time! I have been SO incredibly busy. I haven't been leaving school until 10 at night because of play practice, and the show just opened yesterday (Friday) so it's been crazy. I have another performance tonight, so I was writing this in a bit of a rush. Anywho, here's to some shout-outs.
StormShadow21: Heylo there! I'm so glad you like this story...I love how you just rant and rant in your reviews! It's so funny and lengthy reviews are so cool! I wish I could write such long reviews, but I'm not a girl of many words, I tend to say what I want, how I want in a few words, you know? It's annoying, really, to me, but here's to trying to match your length!! I think we should get an award for how many synonyms we can come up with for 'Flyaway hair'...that is so funny. River Phoenix is so beautiful and his hair is his greatest asset! How can someone just not LOVE it? It's perfect, sexy, yum. Yes, there I go again with my simple words. But hey, I'm trying to make this as long as I can lol. I can't wait until we start to co-write. I'm really in love with DOGFIGHT and the plotline; it's very original and unique. So as soon as I find the time, I'll email you with a bunch of ideas and whatnot, and as soon as you find time we can start outlining/writing the story! It should be fun. I've never co-written anything, though I have read some. My favorite had to be 'And Then There Was You' by ShortStack and FishFace. It's a newsies story, and it's so bloody good. Okay anyways...I hope you liked this chapter even though it was rather dingy. I'm just so exhausted from never being home and always on the run, it's beginning to get to me you know? And I still need to find time for my homework...anyway continue to review and don't forget to update Christine Sixteen!
SleepIsFun: I'm glad you can relate to this story! Well, sort of, I mean it is a bit sad this whole story. I can relate to it too, unfortunately, and it's depressing. But it's nice to write it out, showing how true it is. It's a pain I have to agree with you when you start to like your 'best friend.' Lol...it sucks, but it does happen. Anyways! Thanks for another review—I'm hoping this story will touch people who can relate. At least that's what I'm aiming for!
Also thanks to Sophie, beautyqueen321, CiCi, Danihum, To Lazy To Log In, BridgetLynn, and lostgirl. Thanks to anyone else who reviewed, I think I got all of ya!!