But that is a story for another day. So for now, I will only tell you about Saturday afternoon, which was great-- I knew it would be from the moment that I filled up my "Surely, It's Five O'clock Somewhere" flask at the kitchen table and headed over to the football game. Even after spending the entire third quarter standing by a group of guys who chose to reaffirm our friendship by loudly chanting Arnold's name in my direction, Saturday afternoon was still great because the game itself ended in a win that no body could have ever anticipated. Saturday night, however, was everything but great. After pregaming at our place, my roommates, some friends, and I took a cab to Finny's. I hadn't even made it through the door before I saw him...seeing me. He just wanted me to acknowledge him, I know. But I also know that acknowledging him means that some part of me still cares about him. Still recognizes-- acknowledges-- knows him. Still recognizes-- acknowledges-- knows that he can make me cry.
And there I was. Alone in the middle of the crowded bar. Trying to look like I was having a good time. The all-too-familiar feel of his body as he "unintentionally" brushed past me and bumped into my friends only to move from the dance floor to go buy another drink. Watching him dance with and kiss another girl while looking right at me. Through drunken lids and lashes his eyes begging to meet mine, begging to sense my jealousy. My hurt. My anything. No matter where in that bar I was, all night long, his eyes were watching me. And then I was looking for Yvonne, and his arm came down in front of me, preventing me from moving forward. Before I could react, that same arm was around my waist, and with his free hand, believe it or not, he stuck his finger up my nose. And as my flimsily-constructed semblance of a heart that was finally over him fell to pieces, he whispered my name in a tone that I could not identify at the time. I know now that it was a plea. But I will forever be unable to tell whether it was a plea to show that I was angry with him for putting me through yet another night of hell or a plea to let him know that I still wanted to be with him...
You know when you wake up in the morning with the taste of the boy from last night's kiss lingering in your mouth? And you brush your teeth until your gums bleed trying to get rid of the memory of him? Well, I couldn't brush the feel of his finger from my nose, so I instead spent Sunday morning taking so hot a shower that by the time the water ran cold, all that was left of me was one million little red burns that dotted my scalded skin, my broken body. I went on with my day then. An empty promise of not allowing myself to waste one more thought on him, all that I had to keep me moving forward.
And there I was. Alone in the middle of the crowded bar. Trying to look like I was having a good time. The all-too-familiar feel of his body as he "unintentionally" brushed past me and bumped into my friends only to move from the dance floor to go buy another drink. Watching him dance with and kiss another girl while looking right at me. Through drunken lids and lashes his eyes begging to meet mine, begging to sense my jealousy. My hurt. My anything. No matter where in that bar I was, all night long, his eyes were watching me. And then I was looking for Yvonne, and his arm came down in front of me, preventing me from moving forward. Before I could react, that same arm was around my waist, and with his free hand, believe it or not, he stuck his finger up my nose. And as my flimsily-constructed semblance of a heart that was finally over him fell to pieces, he whispered my name in a tone that I could not identify at the time. I know now that it was a plea. But I will forever be unable to tell whether it was a plea to show that I was angry with him for putting me through yet another night of hell or a plea to let him know that I still wanted to be with him...
You know when you wake up in the morning with the taste of the boy from last night's kiss lingering in your mouth? And you brush your teeth until your gums bleed trying to get rid of the memory of him? Well, I couldn't brush the feel of his finger from my nose, so I instead spent Sunday morning taking so hot a shower that by the time the water ran cold, all that was left of me was one million little red burns that dotted my scalded skin, my broken body. I went on with my day then. An empty promise of not allowing myself to waste one more thought on him, all that I had to keep me moving forward.
