So right, about that stupid story people made me feel obligated to write...
I for one, don't preach what's being done here. I think letting the ol' guiding rod do all the thinking for you initially is just a bad idea. I would like to think that as important as looks can be, it shouldn't be something you should use as a cornerstone of your relationship. I think most teens and hell, even college students make this mistake. Not saying you should suddenly hook up with the nearest fatty or victim of a mauling, and if you're in a relationship that you should let yourself go and become ugly as all hell. It suddenly doesn't matter about how attractive they are if they have a nice personality. If you have that methodology of thinking, then congratulations; you're going to be friendzoned very, VERY often. I believe that people are more or less attracted to how that person chooses to pride themselves on their appearance more than anything else. While a lot of shallow bastards could stare at a woman and go "Dude she's fucking ugly" or "She's not really my type", if that person can carry themselves or at least take SOME care in their appearance, any kind of aural shortcomings can be... overlooked for a lack of a better word. This my friends is why some 'ugly' people are getting laid and you aren't.
And I never learned this lesson faster than when I first saw Amelia clean herself up for school pictures one particular day. Oh right, I forgot to mention that her name is Amelia. A lovely name, isn't it? It just sounds like a rather opulent and delicate name. Names are pretty important, too. It might not mean much initially, but if a woman had a name like Bertha or Olga or Barbara, then you might understand. And if any women have those names and were offended by that joke, then email me pictures of yourselves to sway my opinion. But wait, where was I going with this again? Oh right, pride in appearances.
I think I mentioned before that Ami (pronounced Ah-me) was a bit... homely. Hoodies, sweatshirts, usually jeans and sneakers. You could tell she was attractive, but the girl dressed like a vagrant. Her long blond hair was always in a ponytail, or scuffled into an untidy bun looking like she just woke up. She never really wore much make-up, either; this did not help the fact that she had very pale ivory skin. You could press marble against her face and they would have the same tonal value. At first glance, as like mine, she appeared to be a fairly cute girl who didn't really take care of herself. Again until picture day. Her ruffled blond hair was straightened out and neat. Make-up added a bit of color to her cheeks. Black skirt, black vest, white collared shirt clean and pressed. She drew a lot of attention. God-damn, I could see why she dressed like a boy; given how shy she is, she probably would've had to beat off the adolescent boys with a stick, and good lord that is a very poor choice of words. Anyways the point is that she was fucking gorgeous she was probably drawing more attention to herself than she would've liked.
But there was one thing I noticed. One thing in particular. One thing that just really caught... well, everybody's eye including mine. Given the fact that she always wore things like hoodies and baggy clothing to prepare for the drought, and given her height, nobody never really expected much in THAT particular region where girls start to develop in at that particular age. It's like somebody's concealed weapons were finally uncovered while I, as several others were caught off guard and had our eyes assaulted. I calmly approached the situation, trying to pry my eyes away from them, and in an ever-so-subtle manner...
"Good Christ, where the hell did THOSE come from and how come I never noticed them?"
SMACK. Right across my face.
"No." was the only cold response to be heard. I pushed my luck more.
"I'm serious, did you steal them or something? I mean holy hell!"
SMACK. Right in the same the same place. Red as a strawberry, she didn't utter a word to me for the rest of the day as she slipped away. That slap would become a frequent occurrence in what would soon follow between us. And I believe this is also where my tendencies towards masochism began to take root.
Now granted I was joking around and letting that vulgar sense of humor begin to shine through, I believe she took what I said the wrong way. Well, it wasn't a "wrong way" per say, but a misinterpretation would probably be a better way of saying it. Up until this point aside from a few occasional quips I never honestly commented on how she looked before. So things were a bit awkward over the next couple of days. Eventually we were outside the Rite Aid. She was eating Ice Cream and I had a chocolate bar in my hand. We sat quietly on the bench at around 4pm. That's the one thing I do remember. It was the middle of October, but holy Hell it was about ninety-degrees that day. It was still rather quiet. Until the tension broke.
"You know I was joking, right?"
"Yes."
"You clearly don't."
"I do."
"Then stop acting so damn weird."
"Clarify how I'm acting weird."
"I make those kinds of jokes all the time, alright? I knew I embarrassed you and I said I was sorry. Everybody forgot about it already, so let it go. God-damn."
Despite that, I got a response I didn't really expect.
"Were you serious?" she asked.
"Wait what."
"Did I stutter?"
"Uh..."
"Come on, out with it."
"I was caught off guard."
"Hmm?"
"You look like you could share my wardrobe, so it was a bit surprising to see you in more girly clothes."
"Hmm."
"Wait why were you asking if I was serious?"
A snap of my chocolate bar could be heard. If the tension was any thicker, I would've been gagging for air.
"Chocolate?" I asked.
"No."
"You ran out of ice cream."
"So?"
"It's deliciooooooooooous." I was waving the bar in her face. She attempted to make a grab, but being the bastard I was, I pulled it out her incredibly short reach.
"What the hell? You said I could have some."
"You were being stingy, too late." I taunted as the bar stuck out of my mouth. What happened next managed to unnerve me for a week.
"GIMME!" A loud crack as she bit the bar clean from my lips. My face bright red as she stared at me, triumphantly chomping on the chocolate she pillaged from my mouth. I put another piece in my mouth and held it with my teeth.
"Try that again." I muttered. Those frigid glassy eyes didn't flinch. She leaned in. And that first kiss tasted like chocolate, unsurprisingly enough. I walked her home, and there was little or nothing uttered during those 10 or 15 minutes. Nothing needed to be said. She waved goodbye and closed the door.
And so we became a couple.
And this is turning out longer than I expected. I guess I'll finish it up eventually. ANOTHER PART LATER.
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