verboseforsavages

My first real party ended within the first 25 minutes of me being there. The night was wet and cold, but the one beer that took me 24 minutes to get down kept me warm. I fled; wind howled and persuaded me towards a direction I did not care to know about. Puddles were skipped, as if they were a deep dark pit of Poseidon’s never ending. Sobriety was not a thought; it was everything. It was the separation between thoughts and dreams. Trees were bent, as they stayed silent overlooking the pavement. Chilled, un calloused hands came over my eyes. I endured a spin, a spin that went unnoticed, but so unnoticed she dug it. Her eyes couldn’t be categorized, they were filled with laughter and sorrow. She smiled, not one of those fake ass smiles you give your mom when you tell her her Mexican food was better than chipotle either. Words were rare, and thoughts became feeling. We started a walk to no where, but at least it was somewhere. Leaning on each other and acting more drunk than we were. Lots of words wanted to be spoken; no sense would of been made. We were symmetrical; not our faces, but our bodies. As she hung from my back and dangled her toes just inches from the ground.  For her wedges gave her precious feet blisters, and I would not stand to let a princess be in pain if I was capable of doing something to stop it.

Fire-pits were still boiling, like literally cooking! We could see them from afar, as we slowly walked down the darkest, deepest, only set of stairs that led to the semi-vacant beach. Nerves would set in as it was a dark affair. But no worries on my part, as I held her hand with sweaty palms and feeble confidence. I owed her a beach day, and since burns from the sun passionetely ruled my body, I chose to take her well after the overplayed sunset. We talked a lot, rambling about random gossip and random feelings, and gossiped about our feelings, lame. Awkward silences were nice, I figured she was thinking the same thing, “say something funny, you’re fucking hilarious, I said to myself. HEY I’m fucking funny ok,” said i to her. She paused and looked at me, and started laughing and told me she already knew I was funny. I thought of myself as a playboy at times, as well as a romanticizer, with a pinch of poor comedic relief. the cold sand finally hit our toes, and then our feet. I couldn’t stop staring at her. the sky was thick, dark thick, with twinkles of dying stars still trying to connect; like the way we couldn’t. I had googled a bit of astronomy info before tonight; hoping stars would be visable, and hoping I could show off by pointing out certain stars and their names, and eventually name a star after her and eventually get her to take her shoe off. We sat there all night, heads resting perfectly against one another, the smell of her hair gave me funny, but deep feels in my stomach. Similar to the morning spins after a night out of binging with the boys. There were a couple strands of her hair in my mouth, but I didn’t care; I didn’t move one bit because, because I was more than content. I was captivated and happy, very happy.

She was surprisingly good at math. I knew this because I would peak over her shoulder and end up with a decent grade. We never spoke directly, the test was the middle man. She’d talk to the paper with beautifully written numbers and carefully crafted symbols. The paper, and my lack of concern for academic honesty, would relay the message. To thank her, I decided to give her an IOU. It consisted of pizza and ranch and pizza. On the back it read “THANKS FOR THE NEAT HANDWRITING AND MATHEMATICAL KNOWLEDGE.” I left it in between her palms as I stood over her. Her smile had joy; her smile was anxious to speak. She stood up, almost as tall as me. Her height, something I have never noticed. She whispered, a voice I have never heard, “Next time don’t be a pussy and just ask me.” From then on we shared the joy of eating pizza and ranch and pizza every Tuesday and Thursday together. And the occasional B- on our math tests.

Skipping rocks, fuck that shit. Or maybe just a lame excuse to feel free; except it made us feel more alive than ever. Drops of rain soaked our bodies, as joy dumbed our senses. Our toes were discomforting to the sand, and words so unspeakably lame were exchanged between. Every awkward silence was an excuse to drink. So we drank a lot. And that excuse entailed swigs of shitty white. We cringed, at least I did, as the warm booze traveled our bodies to cure our numbness to the world; we didn’t have any numbness, we were frickin wasted. She didn’t talk much, thank god, but I couldn’t tell if she was a foreign or not. It didn’t matter, this evening together solidified our shitty friendship. She was kinda rad I guess. Most likely her baggy clothes made her seem even cooler than she really was. I’m not sure why, I just think baggy is the new black. Anyways, we were welcomed by silence. On the one hand, actually on the other hand- dancing became more than a chore. The bailando, or the dancing, as some call it, didn’t come natural to me; our hands gravitated together, we had no care in the world. Sloppy dancing was cool, but it was still sloppy dancing. And mediocre sunsets lasted forever. Anxious to make noise, we listened as silence faded our soulful beings to black.

“What was going through her head? Polaroid cameras, or the magnificent iPhone 4 camera? Converse or PF flyers?”
She wasn’t standoffish, but you couldn’t figure her out. So she was frustrating, but at the same time, intriguing. Her nails were painted black. Pretty sure she used a sharpie. I could tell because I used to do the same when I was younger. Thanks to the artist/influencer, Tom DeLonge. This “date” was awkward from the beginning, did I drink too much before? Who knows, I had to pre-game to keep the nerves down. And I was told liquid courage would do me justice. Or then again, every time I would talk, whiskey would overload her nostrils. Hopefully she didn’t think I was an alcoholic, or maybe she just thought I liked to have fun. But anyways, what really made the night was the fact that she had this green leaf stuck in the center of her teeth, and I didn’t say one word the entire night. In my head I thought it was funny, so I just kept it to myself. The rest of the evening was horrid, but we went Dutch on the meal so everything was square. Thank god for split checks.