blowing off the dust.
I found this on an old hard drive. I write this many years ago. Since this was on the old gateway laptop, the P4, I know it was written sometime in between December of 2002, and December of 2004. This was written most likely in my senior year of high School, while i was attending CCHS. I'm right now copying and pasting this. -haven't even read of of it yet, but I'm sure it'll speak for itself. And no, it ends here. No ending, nothing.
I was sitting in her car. The night was young and I sat piously with my hands resting behind my head. I could hear my voice far off rambling quietly while a cigarette quietly remained perched on my lips. A memento of another time, ten minuets ago, when I had placed it there intending to light it, but forgot. As I draw my conclusions her hands tap the steering wheel, each beat sending her wrist in an awkward position, only to slenderly crash down upon the leopard print cover that encases the wheel. I’m surprised at myself for remembering back that far. It must have been six years ago, she gave me a ride home, casual and nothing more, but we had know each other for a while now and could feel a long friend ship looming impatiently over subtle talks in the parking lot. She had a new gift, from a guy or girl I forget, but it’s of no importance. Her leopard print cover was a bold change from the black plastic that had been the standard for so long. My fingers move my hands to my face to light my cigarette, and an unnoticed chuckle escaped my puckered lips. How silly am I?
Her slender body and moon shaped metal frames on her face have held a reserved seat in my heart. A table at an expensive restaurant, she sits in her red sequined dress, the hem skimming the ground as she crosses her legs impatiently. This is how she is in my heart, beautiful, to such a degree that she becomes almost unapproachable for a simple waiter. I see my self, dressed in the full waiter’s attire, white shirt, slicked back hair, and a matching raven shaded cumber bun. Taping the butt of my pencil against the standard issue note pad, mumbling ferocious things at my self as I refill her water glass for the fourth time in five minuets.
In The reality of her car we are really just wearing two pairs of grungy jeans and two differently colored tee shirts. I swish this thought around for a second and decide that it would be a muted point to say which color jeans and tee-shirts we are wearing because the only light I can speak of is the obnoxious glow from the radio, playing some soft jazz, and the dim street lights, placed to intermittently that they serve very little functionality. And she is not waiting at a table draped with the whitest tablecloth in the house, waiting for her waiter to do more than refill her glass. She still sits, though her body language says the same things, at the driver seat of her car tapping her hands against the weel and stroking her fingertips against the fabric of the wheel cover at the same time.
“So what’s new hun?” My well-used phrase has turned in to an inside joke of sorts. I can expect any answer at this point because it’s unlikely that anything has changed since I poised the same question when I got in her car no more than fifteen minuets ago.
“Ya know, I can’t figure out why you ask that, it’s a shallow question to begin with, and I’m sure you could come up with better conversation starters if you wanted to. And that’s besides to point”, She pauses her to give a quick sharp laugh that signal to me I’ve amused her, “you know that we’ve just been hanging out in talking since I picked you up, and not much has changed”.
For her, that was a bold statement. Not something that put me at the edge of my seat, but enough to know she’s expecting a little deeper conversation from this ride. There should be a word that means ‘Oh crap’ and ‘This could Rock!’, and if there was that would be how I’m feeling.
“Well I would have to say that your point is valid and has been taken to heart, but I you were right in assuming I full well knew these things. I’d have to say that it’s not supposed to mean ‘has anything changed’ but much more of a”, I pause here to give a sly smile to my intellectual desire sitting next to me, “ segway to a reflection on what has just been said. I like to think that everyone pays at least half attention to everyone else, and even if they don’t realize it, they are thinking and reflecting of what the other person has gust laid on the table. I know it’s a rough way of looking at it, but most intellectual conversations are just people dumping their backpacks on some old coffee stained table saying ‘all right here it is my life and feelings. Feel free to rummage around’”.
I was sitting in her car. The night was young and I sat piously with my hands resting behind my head. I could hear my voice far off rambling quietly while a cigarette quietly remained perched on my lips. A memento of another time, ten minuets ago, when I had placed it there intending to light it, but forgot. As I draw my conclusions her hands tap the steering wheel, each beat sending her wrist in an awkward position, only to slenderly crash down upon the leopard print cover that encases the wheel. I’m surprised at myself for remembering back that far. It must have been six years ago, she gave me a ride home, casual and nothing more, but we had know each other for a while now and could feel a long friend ship looming impatiently over subtle talks in the parking lot. She had a new gift, from a guy or girl I forget, but it’s of no importance. Her leopard print cover was a bold change from the black plastic that had been the standard for so long. My fingers move my hands to my face to light my cigarette, and an unnoticed chuckle escaped my puckered lips. How silly am I?
Her slender body and moon shaped metal frames on her face have held a reserved seat in my heart. A table at an expensive restaurant, she sits in her red sequined dress, the hem skimming the ground as she crosses her legs impatiently. This is how she is in my heart, beautiful, to such a degree that she becomes almost unapproachable for a simple waiter. I see my self, dressed in the full waiter’s attire, white shirt, slicked back hair, and a matching raven shaded cumber bun. Taping the butt of my pencil against the standard issue note pad, mumbling ferocious things at my self as I refill her water glass for the fourth time in five minuets.
In The reality of her car we are really just wearing two pairs of grungy jeans and two differently colored tee shirts. I swish this thought around for a second and decide that it would be a muted point to say which color jeans and tee-shirts we are wearing because the only light I can speak of is the obnoxious glow from the radio, playing some soft jazz, and the dim street lights, placed to intermittently that they serve very little functionality. And she is not waiting at a table draped with the whitest tablecloth in the house, waiting for her waiter to do more than refill her glass. She still sits, though her body language says the same things, at the driver seat of her car tapping her hands against the weel and stroking her fingertips against the fabric of the wheel cover at the same time.
“So what’s new hun?” My well-used phrase has turned in to an inside joke of sorts. I can expect any answer at this point because it’s unlikely that anything has changed since I poised the same question when I got in her car no more than fifteen minuets ago.
“Ya know, I can’t figure out why you ask that, it’s a shallow question to begin with, and I’m sure you could come up with better conversation starters if you wanted to. And that’s besides to point”, She pauses her to give a quick sharp laugh that signal to me I’ve amused her, “you know that we’ve just been hanging out in talking since I picked you up, and not much has changed”.
For her, that was a bold statement. Not something that put me at the edge of my seat, but enough to know she’s expecting a little deeper conversation from this ride. There should be a word that means ‘Oh crap’ and ‘This could Rock!’, and if there was that would be how I’m feeling.
“Well I would have to say that your point is valid and has been taken to heart, but I you were right in assuming I full well knew these things. I’d have to say that it’s not supposed to mean ‘has anything changed’ but much more of a”, I pause here to give a sly smile to my intellectual desire sitting next to me, “ segway to a reflection on what has just been said. I like to think that everyone pays at least half attention to everyone else, and even if they don’t realize it, they are thinking and reflecting of what the other person has gust laid on the table. I know it’s a rough way of looking at it, but most intellectual conversations are just people dumping their backpacks on some old coffee stained table saying ‘all right here it is my life and feelings. Feel free to rummage around’”.