Time Warp
I found this in a dusty folder way back in the annals of My Documents. I wrote it a long time ago for a class assignment. At the time it was really hard to write, but it doesn't bother me at all anymore. ^_^
Heather Chambers
Bubblegum. That’s what his shoes remind me of. Fat and puffy, every time I blink I expect them to turn Bubbleyum pink. They don’t. Neither do they turn white, green, blue, speckled, or any other color resembling the real gum stuck to the underside of the desk he calls a seat. I poke the shoe, and wonder if I could untie it fast enough to get his attention and not get caught in the process. What if I just poke the dangling shoe again? Will he get curious enough and finally look down, or will he get annoyed? Annoyed would be bad-he’s too cute and shy. I don’t poke the shoe…and he glances at me anyways! Yes! Sitting-on-the-floor girl has won out over large-chested-sans-braces girl in the chair. Suddenly I am shaped like her, curvy and flat in all the right places instead of the wrong ones. Except my mouth-it stays wrong, it stays still, stays quiet. I am boring, and so I lose the battle over his attention. He turns back up, to her. My breasts deflate, my waist expands, and I am plain little ol’ me. Plain, little ol’ ignored me.
Three months later he says he loves me.
___________________________________________________________________
wrote: Im sorry, I cant. To me we ended when summer started, it was in no way your fault, I just cant see you as anything more than a friend. I have been trying to break up with you all summer but am still as much a coward as ever.
Oh my god. I’m single again. What if I’m single again forever? What if nobody else thinks I’m pretty? Did he ever? What if-no, will not do this. I will not become a pathetic ex-girlfriend. I am just fine. So I go home and make brownies, sans tears. My family smiles at me, gently, because they can see the way “fragile” is written across my face. “Fragile” like the leg lamp Ralphie’s dad won, held together with clear packaging tape. Fragile, not “Frahgeelee”. Three days later, half the brownies sit, still in the pan, on the counter. I realize I switched the water and the oil ratios.
His sweatshirt still hangs in my locker, waiting for my hands to grow the courage to touch it. His CD’s do the same on my nightstand. Now the only thing my hands can hold is a book-“Archaeology through the Ages”. The past is solid, it goes nowhere but where I wish it to go, it does not lie. And best of all, it’s feelings for me do not change.
_________________________________________________________________
She looks just like me. I see her in the hallway. Misinformed friends think I care, think I want to know what he does with his heart now. So I hear-“She’s crazy.” “Wow, is she ever loud. I mean, really loud!” “Her hair changes color every few weeks, she’s a nutjob…” I have never come closer to loathing someone in my entire life. He thinks of me as a friend, so he dates and older version of me with a bigger cup size. Whoo-hoo! Like I give a damn…Every time I open my locker, my eyes slide over to watch them six lockers down. Right. I don’t care. That’s why the screaming metal band in my ear needs to get louder…
_________________________________________________________
wrote:
I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel as you did; I just, wasnt sure
what to do, at all. I miss what we had, I enjoyed what we had. Will you give
me another chance?
My god this was hard, you of all people know I am not one to take charge.
It’s a good thing I don’t sweat when I’m nervous. I hope he doesn’t freak out on me. Warm stomach, right, right were my hand is supposed to be. Heehee, his happy trail is ticklish. Right. Not getting distracted. Waistband of his pants. Can he hear my heart hammering? I don’t know if I can hear the television over my breathing. Thank God he’s not wearing a belt. Shaking, shaking, I really should stop my hands shaking…there’s his thigh. Soft, smooth, under the hair. Oh god, his thigh, I wasn’t looking for his thigh, how the hell could I miss! It’s a good thing he can’t see me blushing…yes, spooning has it’s advantages. Now if I move my hand over just a little bit…ah, found it. A bit smaller than I expected. Oh well.
Blankets are wonderful things. They hide so much. And the television…whatever would I do without the television? Oh, hello Mother, we were just watching Star Trek, we’re not naked from the waist down below the blankets! No, we’re just watching TV! Thanks for asking, though. Phew. That was close. Can she still smell the latex? I hope not. Better open the window.
Almost a foot taller than me, if I stand on tiptoe and be bends over, we can just kiss. Standing in that doorway, I am beautiful. I must be, he told me so. He doesn’t lie. Besides, eyes can’t lie, can they? And that look that makes his already soft brown eyes go softer, that look means I’m beautiful and he’ll love me forever, right? He doesn’t laugh at me naked. I’m the reason he packs a change of underwear. Only me. Just me. And those eyes…yes, he loves me, and I am beautiful.
“It would really upset my mom if she found us, we have to find somewhere else,” and I’m terrified it’ll break. He’s frustrated, I can tell.
“Ok.”
That’s right, he loves me, so he’ll be OK with it. You don’t stop loving someone just because they shut their legs. Just like you don’t stop loving someone because they can’t get it up-that would be wrong. That wouldn’t be love. Right?
He didn’t do his homework, so he’s grounded…at least, last I heard. He’d tell me when he stopped being grounded. Then he could come over. We could talk to each other, not just type. We could touch. I’m not allowed to hold his hand in public, it makes him “uncomfortable”, makes him feel like we’re being attention whores. Good-bye kisses are allowed, brief and dry.
________________________________________________________________
”Hello?”
He answered the phone! Oh, thank goodness. He’s not screening calls. It’s so good to hear his voice after two weeks of blistering summer vacation. I understand, no phone at his grandma’s house, and he’s been over there painting. He never was one much for calling me…Except three months ago, when he used to call just to hear the sound of my voice…
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll never tell me you love me if you don’t mean it.”
“I promise. But I’ve got to go now-we have to finish painting in the morning…”
“Alright. Have fun! I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Richard DeFreece I just haven’t felt the same for about the last three months, and I don’t think it’s fair to keep dating you when I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you. You were wonderful You brought me out of my shell-even my family has noticed. Thank you. But I just don’t feel the same. It would be nice if we could still be friends.
I can’t breathe, my hands are shaking, is this what shock feels like? Cold and numb, disbelief? Lying son of a bitch. But I am not a psycho-hose-beast ex girlfriend.
I think I’ll go make brownies.
Heather Chambers
Bubblegum. That’s what his shoes remind me of. Fat and puffy, every time I blink I expect them to turn Bubbleyum pink. They don’t. Neither do they turn white, green, blue, speckled, or any other color resembling the real gum stuck to the underside of the desk he calls a seat. I poke the shoe, and wonder if I could untie it fast enough to get his attention and not get caught in the process. What if I just poke the dangling shoe again? Will he get curious enough and finally look down, or will he get annoyed? Annoyed would be bad-he’s too cute and shy. I don’t poke the shoe…and he glances at me anyways! Yes! Sitting-on-the-floor girl has won out over large-chested-sans-braces girl in the chair. Suddenly I am shaped like her, curvy and flat in all the right places instead of the wrong ones. Except my mouth-it stays wrong, it stays still, stays quiet. I am boring, and so I lose the battle over his attention. He turns back up, to her. My breasts deflate, my waist expands, and I am plain little ol’ me. Plain, little ol’ ignored me.
Three months later he says he loves me.
___________________________________________________________________
wrote: Im sorry, I cant. To me we ended when summer started, it was in no way your fault, I just cant see you as anything more than a friend. I have been trying to break up with you all summer but am still as much a coward as ever.
Oh my god. I’m single again. What if I’m single again forever? What if nobody else thinks I’m pretty? Did he ever? What if-no, will not do this. I will not become a pathetic ex-girlfriend. I am just fine. So I go home and make brownies, sans tears. My family smiles at me, gently, because they can see the way “fragile” is written across my face. “Fragile” like the leg lamp Ralphie’s dad won, held together with clear packaging tape. Fragile, not “Frahgeelee”. Three days later, half the brownies sit, still in the pan, on the counter. I realize I switched the water and the oil ratios.
His sweatshirt still hangs in my locker, waiting for my hands to grow the courage to touch it. His CD’s do the same on my nightstand. Now the only thing my hands can hold is a book-“Archaeology through the Ages”. The past is solid, it goes nowhere but where I wish it to go, it does not lie. And best of all, it’s feelings for me do not change.
_________________________________________________________________
She looks just like me. I see her in the hallway. Misinformed friends think I care, think I want to know what he does with his heart now. So I hear-“She’s crazy.” “Wow, is she ever loud. I mean, really loud!” “Her hair changes color every few weeks, she’s a nutjob…” I have never come closer to loathing someone in my entire life. He thinks of me as a friend, so he dates and older version of me with a bigger cup size. Whoo-hoo! Like I give a damn…Every time I open my locker, my eyes slide over to watch them six lockers down. Right. I don’t care. That’s why the screaming metal band in my ear needs to get louder…
_________________________________________________________
wrote:
I never meant to hurt you, or make you feel as you did; I just, wasnt sure
what to do, at all. I miss what we had, I enjoyed what we had. Will you give
me another chance?
My god this was hard, you of all people know I am not one to take charge.
It’s a good thing I don’t sweat when I’m nervous. I hope he doesn’t freak out on me. Warm stomach, right, right were my hand is supposed to be. Heehee, his happy trail is ticklish. Right. Not getting distracted. Waistband of his pants. Can he hear my heart hammering? I don’t know if I can hear the television over my breathing. Thank God he’s not wearing a belt. Shaking, shaking, I really should stop my hands shaking…there’s his thigh. Soft, smooth, under the hair. Oh god, his thigh, I wasn’t looking for his thigh, how the hell could I miss! It’s a good thing he can’t see me blushing…yes, spooning has it’s advantages. Now if I move my hand over just a little bit…ah, found it. A bit smaller than I expected. Oh well.
Blankets are wonderful things. They hide so much. And the television…whatever would I do without the television? Oh, hello Mother, we were just watching Star Trek, we’re not naked from the waist down below the blankets! No, we’re just watching TV! Thanks for asking, though. Phew. That was close. Can she still smell the latex? I hope not. Better open the window.
Almost a foot taller than me, if I stand on tiptoe and be bends over, we can just kiss. Standing in that doorway, I am beautiful. I must be, he told me so. He doesn’t lie. Besides, eyes can’t lie, can they? And that look that makes his already soft brown eyes go softer, that look means I’m beautiful and he’ll love me forever, right? He doesn’t laugh at me naked. I’m the reason he packs a change of underwear. Only me. Just me. And those eyes…yes, he loves me, and I am beautiful.
“It would really upset my mom if she found us, we have to find somewhere else,” and I’m terrified it’ll break. He’s frustrated, I can tell.
“Ok.”
That’s right, he loves me, so he’ll be OK with it. You don’t stop loving someone just because they shut their legs. Just like you don’t stop loving someone because they can’t get it up-that would be wrong. That wouldn’t be love. Right?
He didn’t do his homework, so he’s grounded…at least, last I heard. He’d tell me when he stopped being grounded. Then he could come over. We could talk to each other, not just type. We could touch. I’m not allowed to hold his hand in public, it makes him “uncomfortable”, makes him feel like we’re being attention whores. Good-bye kisses are allowed, brief and dry.
________________________________________________________________
”Hello?”
He answered the phone! Oh, thank goodness. He’s not screening calls. It’s so good to hear his voice after two weeks of blistering summer vacation. I understand, no phone at his grandma’s house, and he’s been over there painting. He never was one much for calling me…Except three months ago, when he used to call just to hear the sound of my voice…
“Promise me something.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll never tell me you love me if you don’t mean it.”
“I promise. But I’ve got to go now-we have to finish painting in the morning…”
“Alright. Have fun! I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Richard DeFreece I just haven’t felt the same for about the last three months, and I don’t think it’s fair to keep dating you when I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you. You were wonderful You brought me out of my shell-even my family has noticed. Thank you. But I just don’t feel the same. It would be nice if we could still be friends.
I can’t breathe, my hands are shaking, is this what shock feels like? Cold and numb, disbelief? Lying son of a bitch. But I am not a psycho-hose-beast ex girlfriend.
I think I’ll go make brownies.