Another Girl

Stephen walked to 14th street to pick her up. In his mind it was thrity fourth street or time square, she had on a lush dress and hair down, something she never did, and he saw her as removed from reality. He saw her as a way out of mundanity and into a life of real events. Stories you could tell afterwards, not just stories you've read and can discuss. He knew she liked him. He asked if she was hungry, no, but they could go to an eatery if he wanted, but no, he wasn't hungry either. They lay on the grass in Tomkins park. He said he didn't like leaving the east village anymore hardly if he could help it. She laughed a lot at a lot of things. She smiled and put on and off big sunglasses and rolled over on the grass. He looked at her hips and remembered them. He knew there was depression under there. He had seen glimpses back when her hips weren't a memory. It's among what actracted him. Now what atracted him was her happiness. She was happiness, and she represented it, even more so because of that sad, and he wanted it in his life. He wondered, looking at her, lying on the grass, beautiful, if he really wanted her in his life. It was too easy for him to think about her as if she was not a person, to weigh the pros and cons of her. He hated it. He hated himself for it. He thought it had to be because of her transient relations with him. Briefly her hips were here and then they were not, he didn't get to talk to her again for weeks until now, lying on the grass, playing with her sunglasses. Everyone is a myth until you really know them. That can't be avoided. Everyone is a character in a poorly writen movie, one facet, one plotmoving purpose for being there. One personality. So he'll get to know her and he'll see the real human replace the cardboard cutout representing beauty and happiness and the human will be even better than the simple idea. He'll like her in reality more. Right?


He told her he thinks he likes her. She lauged. Really? Why? He didn't want to tell her. That she represented all this. He lauged and told her he didn't know. Liking someone is not really his style. He has to remember that he is just a cardboard cutout to her. He can ruin it later. He told her she should go out with him. She thought about it. He watched her lips as she bit them. Do girls really do that absentmindedly? Do they know how much it speaks to guys of sex? He watched her hips as she rolled over. He watched her hair as it was moved from her face. She told him no but she did it in a particular way. She told him she didn't think she could. She told him how much she liked him at one point and maybe now still. She told him she couldn't deal with it now. He knew she liked him. She liked him, right? She asked him if that was ok. He told her of course it wasn't but of course it'd have to be. They talked longer, about other things. Stephen stood up in the grass and wiped himself off.


Stephen walked into the party. Later he couldn't tell you wether it was the same night or two days later, not that he would have been talking to you anyway. He was sitting on the couch. A black couch, dark walls of the apartment. He liked that, you know. He knew she was there. She even came over and talked to him once. Half nerviously, knowing he was upset but wanting to come off as friendly or wanting to actaully be freindly, or residue of actually likeing him. He punched the guy she kissed later that night. He didn't have the bulk to do it. Cut lip, black eye, sore sholder, blue. He thought it would last longer. But it's alright. He saw it and thought he had to punch that guy. He thought, do people do that anymore? Isn't that possesive, sexist, worthless? He didn't think of her as a real person. He was ashamed of that. But this was the life of action she promised. This was the life that no longer existed in his generation. No one did this anymore. Stephen's fist concected with the guy's head and it was a story. Stephen felt his face meet a fist and felt it as if it was real. Then his sholder. It was too quick. No, he wanted to call, this should go longer! Stephen lay on ground as she yelled in sympathy and in anger and thought that he has lived his life today as if on paper. He thought about how nothing has deeper significance, there is no deeper significance. What he did today meant nothing, and no one knew what it ment except for him. 


you got me feeling like