pictured her
I don't remember whether she found me or I found her, but casual back-and-forth banter developed into blushy cheecked flirtation and took off from there. I pictured her walking past the pub downstairs and taking the elevator up to her apartment, drinking a cocktail and spilling words out of her fingertips and then posting them for the world to see. Pictured her in the park, in the snow or waiting for the subway, breath like smoke in a puffy down jacket, any color but black. Pictured her touring the city with the niece she adores. Pictured her telling me stories about street corners or back rooms of bars, narrating New York for me, my own personalized documentary. I once sent her my phone number on a cocktail napkin and giggled incessantly when she rung me up.
In our imaginations, we meet at Columbus Circle or drink coffee in the dog park. We play tennis and she always lets me win. We play scrabble and drink tea. I cover her eyes at the gory parts of E.R. and we never miss Law & Order. We argue about which movie to watch. Amazingly, she finds my crabbiness endearing.
I crush on her on many counts: She shakes me when I need to snap out of it. She nicknames me: Deetzy, red, just plain Deetz. She calls me a sap. She says I'm foxy and obsesses about my red hair. She says things like, "I gather", "delicious creature," "red damn hair," "sweet jesus," and "surely you realize." She constantly claims she's bad in bed. She's always right there with a witty reply. She charms me with the turn of a phrase.
I enjoy her wry sense of humor. I delight in the fact that she's a cynic rather than rose-colored glasses and that she's pissed off at the world for the right reasons. I imagine she'd be protective of me, even though she knows I don't need much protecting. I imagine she'd grin and shyly avert her eyes when I took her hand. She's shiny. She dazzles. She's Holden Caulfield with a chain wallet and skateboard. And every time my little reptile's name pops up in my inbox, I'm the giddy-grinned girl passing notes in the back of class.
She's MY crush. And all the actresses, vanilla coke girls, therapists and chefs in the world can't take that away.
Friday, February 23, 2001
totally crushed out about us story archive
copyright 1999-2008 to the authors. we have a massive crush on you.