Wednesday, August 22, 2012

a short story about a tall boy

so much with the heavy here lately.
and i don't want to look back on this blog in 5 years (if i'll even be able to..i have a habit of starting then deleting these things) and only remember the ugly.
i need to remember the shiny things too.

this is a story. a story that has a happy ending. and i have it on good authority that anyone who reads this will enjoy it more if they're eating something delicious at the same time.
multi-tasking is your best friend, guys.

punctuation, capitalization, and other nonsense is over rated.

this place always smells like teenage boy ass, stale coffee, and cigarette smoke. i contribute the smoke to all the delinquents who crowd outside the door so they can make out with each other and give themselves cancer.

i don't get the point of making out. not that i wouldn't do it if some boy asked me. it's just so weird...tongues on tongues. where's the appeal of tasting someone else's spit or finding out what they had for lunch? 

no, i've never made out with a boy. or girl for that matter. and yes, i'm 19. my mother tells me it's because boys are intimidated by me. i call bullshit. i think it's 60% i'm too fat, and 40% i come off as a bitch because i'm too afraid to talk to them. 

tonight might be different though. see, there's this boy. he found me on aol and i'm supposed to meet him here, since apparently we both like hanging out with weirdos. i don't know much about him, except that we like the same music. and he's supposed to be wearing a philmore shirt. common sense tells me he could be a stalker. or really boring, creepy, or just plain dumb. scout's honor, i don't really care what he looks like. it's so cliche i know, but i've never really cared. 

it's funny how i don't care what he looks like, but care way too much about how i look. but here's the irony: so much care is given to make me look like i don't care. my shoes are old and dirty, my hair brushed in such a way to look like i haven't touched it in weeks. and my make-up is applied the way that aunt becky on "full house" taught me. i look like i'm not wearing any at all. 

but for some reason tonight i feel invincible. because someone has finally noticed me. someone wants to meet me. and talk to me. and maybe even "like" me like me. i feel like i could fly.

i'm not alone, thank god. amy's with me. and we spend the entire night checking all the shirts on the boys in the room. her glass half full attitude is infectious. which may explain why i feel like flying and not crawling into a hole, like my usual self.

i don't know anything about coffee. which is why i order the same thing every single time i come here. some syrup infused cold thing... and truth be told, i don't think the boy behind the counter with blue hair and 17 holes in his head knows jack shit about coffee either. but it always makes me feel less awkward, having something in my hands. 

we make our way into the huge, carpeted room with dark walls where the music is coming from. the smell is by far its worst in here. and everyone is trying so hard to fit in, by looking like they don't want to fit in. and i so badly want them all to notice me. to like me. 

sometimes the music in here is so loud i'm on the verge of convulsions. seriously. i hate to sound like an old person, but does it have to be so loud? and why do all these boys think screaming at me makes me happy? there's a right way to scream and a wrong way to scream. and these people are all doing it wrong. 

and anyway, it's nearing the end of the night and i haven't seen a single philmore shirt in the crowd. i should've known he wouldn't show when he saw me. i'm so stup.....

"hi, are you vanessa?"

"oh, hi. yea. you're really tall."

"i eat a lot of pizza."

then he smiled. and, well, i had that feeling i'd been waiting 19 years for. it felt like i'd been punched in the stomach and it forced my heart into my throat. suddenly swallowing became just as impossible as saying anything whitty, smart or funny. all i could do was smile. and pretend to enjoy the screaming that was happening on the stage a few feet in front of me. 

he wore the wrong shirt. a shirt that happens to be his favorite he'll later tell me. 

whether or not he's my future, i don't know yet. but i do know the following:
he's adorable
he's adorable
and, well, he's adorable
also...tall. very very tall..
which is good because he makes me feel very very small.

i wonder if he'll talk to me again after seeing me...

the end
or, i'll say it, the beginning

out history started september of 1999.
we would officially start dating in november.
and make out for the first time in december. at which point i would understand why people did it so much. we still do it as often as the short people will let us.
engagement would come in july of 2001.
marriage in may of 2003...
then the rest is a blur of babies, poop, breastmilk, and sleep depravation. 

and i still get that feeling, you guys.
the one where i feel like i'd been punched in the stomach and it forced my heart into my throat.

today's post was brought to you by too many hours of staring at this damn laptop editing pictures, my love being at school or work 24/7, and non-stop fighting from my children.

it was written on the floor or my dark bedroom in front of a whirring box fan and "roseanne" on the tv. 

i am not a writer, i just play one on this blog.
that boy that was supposed to wear the philmore shirt? he's the writer.
and i love him. 


  1. I love your story.
    I love your love.
    I love your happiness.
    There is always good isn't there?
    Even in the darkest times. The hardest times. The strangest times.
    There is love.
    : )

  2. Replies
    1. i love love stories. does that make me a girl?

  3. Our finest hour has just begun.

  4. This is so good. Seriously, write a book. On that note, have you read "Mennonite in a Little Black Dress"? It made me "lol" in one of my reading binges at Hastings.

    1. no i haven't! i'll add it to my list. i'm in the middle of two books right now..i should finish them before i get ahead of myself.

  5. I loved this! I needed a happy story to read, this evening. :)