I glance at you as I walked in the door
and you were busy fiddling with something
on the counter so I hurried by and dropped my eyes
so I wouldn’t see exactly how beautiful you were.
And I got nervous jitters waiting in the check out line
because you were beautiful and beautiful boys
always try to break me and you were looking right at me.
So I only sort of smiled, much less polite then I usually am,
and I just wanted to run away, right out the door,
letting my drink crash to the floor, but then you would
have to clean it up and then maybe you would remember me.
And I didn’t want you to remember me. In my mind
I was begging you, “ignoremeignoremeignoremeignoreme”
but you though it was cute that I was so shy and how I
put the money on the counter so I wouldn’t have to
touch your hand and how I took several steps back
from the counter because I was frantic to get as far away
from you as I possibly could. And you chuckled at
my strangeness and I gasped at your beauty when you
looked up and met my eye with that smile and bright eyes
that screamed “trust me” – and that was it. My eyes met yours,
defeated, and they whispered, “I do… so hurt me.”
i think a lot of us have been here. intense infatuation with the very beautiful boy with the amazing blue eyes!
you have brought it back very clearly to me with small details like : ' I put the money on the counter so I wouldn’t have to
touch your hand ' ,
in my case it was a very long time ago. i have always been conscious of being gawky or frumpy or even downright ugly and dressed in a brown convent uniform over huge brown interlock knickers and 40 denier stockings does little to make you feel good about yourself [which i guess is the general idea!] so a beautiful blue eyed boy was more adonis than human.
i went back to where i went to boarding school about 5 years ago, and by pure chance bumped into him. he was paunchy, his once brilliant smile was tobacco stained brown and those eyes of his totally lacked any sparkle...... but far worse than this, i discovered that he had never had any interest in reading or poetry or the wonders of nature. preferring the pub and the betting shop. i left wondering how i could ever have found him attractive. thanks for reminding me how i felt though!
I'm reading this while listening to jeff buckley 'lover, you should have come over'. It's interesting reading this with his cynicism floating around in the background.
I like how you write stories like thoughts, how you get so...personal. I mean, like saying that you're shy, and you put the money on the counter so's you wouldn't have to touch him. This is filled with a sense of restraint. And the 'ignoremeignoremeignore' part- I get that going in my head when I walk past a group of boys, but maybe under that, way way under that, I think 'noticemenoticemenoticeme'. It's awful both ways.
Ahh yes the power (or curse) of love, the stuff dreams (and little deaths) are made of. The thing about love is that it is this uncontrollable power like a hurricane where you cannot predict the direction or fathom the consequences or implications it could bring. Ahh love... Yes indeed i have to say this force is experienced on a unique different way for everybody. Nice write. Thanks for sharing.
Oh, someone needs to give this band music lessons... I wept for them. All those keys and octaves, and that poor little Tripp Palin singer can only play a 1 octave range... badly. Oh god. The horror. The horror.
Ahhh, the horn tho... it gives it frenetic energy... the horn ties to your write, I think. I remember that feeling... boys are some stone god mystery to figure out, something that assigns worth to our miserable little attempts at copying the latest Rag Mag Coverface or achieving the toned linear look in the sack dress... What good is it all without the Boys' approval, and that little imperceptible look that assures us we are on the right paths to finding Ourselves?
Yes, of course I'm being facetious about everything, right after the horn statement. Boys are [censored], they are more [censored]ed up than any of us at any age, but unlike girls, they generally keep their mouths shut and don't panic or break down, and we assume they're silent types, or cool, or some other ridiculous notion. You can't present a "hurt me" look to them... they're going to do that, regardless, but giving them an open invitation is suicide. I woke up once from a length drunk evening and found that the [censored] I'd been out with had walked through my house and stolen my [censored], including my dog. HE STOLE MY DOG, ok??? It took 4 days to get my dog back. I didn't even worry about my pens (who the [censored] steals your ink pens???) or the CD's and band-memorabilia stuff... The dog was my focus, which in retrospect was a brilliant distraction to get the material goods, on his part... what an [censored] he was! What [censored]s they all are!
Made me reflect that the moment you have described here is about 2 seconds in a movie, but at least this long in writing! And as a poem or whatever, it is just a personal squeak, or a little observation out of any context; but in a movie, it could be the theme statement for a whole story!
Do you make movies? I expect they would be good.
It could be the theme for a short story, too. Or for one passage in a novel, the sort of novel that sees everything through the eyes of several secondary characters ....