Crushing

I edge closer to him, all meaningless conversation of a moment ago lost. I was too busy calculating the logistics of this. The intent clear in my eyes, the smirk wearing through my lips. I’m standing now, walking towards him, body sure but mind frantic. He looks at me unsure but expectant. I’m close now. I try to make the motion smooth as my left knee becomes level with his hip, my other leg creeping up his side, my weight now just about on him, conviction wavering. He must know by now. I hope I don’t crush his legs into this ugly chair. Then, my weight let upon him almost completely, his warmth, his smile. Now all I have to do is concentrate on what I want to say. I begin, with a little start in my voice, seductively but not deliberately so, not a cliché, never a cliché. With my hand upon his shoulders: “I don’t want to be the girl-” Directly to his face, acting like it’s not planned although it has been many times “-who is uptight and completely un-random- ” What eloquence! For a rehearsed speech you think I could have consulted a dictionary in all that time. “-who is always refusing things- ” I’m going to have to move soon, I’m going to have to follow through with this, to see how far, with all that I’ve got away with, for years, always us, always skirting around the issue… “-when actually…” Softly, softly bowing my head to kiss him on the neck on the right side, once, twice… but now, no, he’s moving, towards my face, not away… I know and yet in the slow motion that the event seems to pass in it never registers that he is about to kiss me. But he does, making contact, I can almost hear his thoughts, “Did you just want to kiss me or did you want me to kiss you?” So unsure, so unlike him. But for a moment you could almost forget all the assumptions we had made about each other. Then passionately pushes his lips into mine, and I kiss him back greedily, happily, relievedly. The kiss declines perfectly and so it was, it was, and it was enjoyed and everyone gets out before they ruin the moment. And when our lips break apart no-one pushes anyone away, but I move back to my seat on the table almost opposite him. We are both breathing a little heavier than normal, both pleased with its prevalence in the other. I meet his eyes, I can meet his eyes. I want to wrap my body around him again, I never want there to be a moment where either of us need to speak. Because I feel I should say something now, something perfect, meaningful and concluding. And I don’t.

And what am I doing now? Deliberately avoiding him so I can get some privacy and write out this perfect fantasy? This bullshit that I would never, ever be able to carry out? Ruining his story? Taking advantage of him?

What is really getting in the way of this? Us. I know why people don’t just have sex more like he sometimes hypothesises, why even though bathing costumes show more skin than underwear- no girl just strips to her panties and jumps in the pool… why why why… I want to tell him that I wish I could answer these for him. But I can. And I’m afraid to be alone with him. There is too much to know and he wants to know it all. I feel so bad that most, nearly all, of the things that I tell him I have told some partner of mine before. Sometimes they are standing around at the same party pretending not to exist while I repeat myself. And I know that they are thinking “How can you tell him that? He’s just a friend. He’s just this guy, that I hardly even like, and you’re telling him the intimate things that you told me when we were dating?” I know they don’t get it and I know that people get possessive of the information that they hear from their partners. But it’s different, somehow.

I was trying to explain this to a much older friend of mine; how with most people if you placed it on a continuum of the amount of things they do that shits me on the left end and the amount of things they do that I really like on the right side, and draw a line to represent where it’s all distributed in this weird horizontally symmetrical shape. It’s pretty hard and stupid to describe. It’s kinda like a bar graph. But the average person has more on the good side, quite a bit in the middle and maybe a little in the bad side. But this boy has nearly no middle ground, a lot good and only marginally less bad (as we are still friends).

And before anyone says this is love at first sight. It wasn’t. It thoroughly wasn’t. I thought about it. With a little more than the usual interest and I did make my thoughts and intentions clear. Only to be brushed off with worse than the “lets just be friends” type excuse. And no, it wasn’t “I’m gay.”

It just never worked like that. There were so many things that were so uncannily right, but things that he did that absolutely drove me mad, he’s so stubborn and he does all of it deliberately.

I want to explain that I don’t want to explain. That the whole reason quite a few of my relationships sucked, was because I had been through the planning of so many of the same cliché moments and the extricating of the same secrets over and over again. That no matter who it was I felt the routine in every action. I know it must be me, it was like being married to the same person for 5 years. That or my age, this age, the age of the people I date.

Yes, when all else fails blame society. Ha.

I wanted it scream at him to text me tonight. But how ORDINARY. How culture-that-is-ruining-my-ability-to-be-spontaneous-and-genuine.

Fuck.

Send him an email.

You wouldn’t believe how bad the last relationship I started with an email ended.

I bet Luddites had great social lives.

I want to explain that if we go somewhere or do something together I never want to hear his tired old regrets for what he wishes he could have done, had he had the courage. And I don’t want him to say that he loves me if he ever for a moment feels like he should, or doesn’t know what he is talking about or dealing with. And I don’t want to see him every moment or have him think we should.

But that’s so much to ask of a person. One, to do all those things at all, and second, to do them without being told? And that’s just my general past relationship grievances. What about the things that I can’t stand about him specifically? He has HURT me in the past and although I have the ability to tell him that he’s done that, and to tell him what he does that pisses me off – I don’t. Because I almost feel that there’s no use even saying anything. Trying to make people change is completely stupid anyway, and anyone stupid enough to try only does it because they are about to embark on some big serious relationship phase. And that is not at all what I want. That is one thing that he has always got, what we both wanted out of a relationship. But never us. Not even a stray hypothetical reference. I mean, he has said that I am attractive, but always second to a girl with bigger tits.

I was never a real girl to him, a ‘friend’ who was shut out and half way in between.

As with anything else, as in life. Too much a friend to be invited on a date, not enough to be invited out with the guys.

Sure, sure I sound obsessed, I never wrote about anyone so much in a blog before, apart from Amanda. But if I had to pick anyone that I was really ever obsessed with it wouldn’t be him by a long shot. Enough with the obsession though. Bad bad bad.

You know this blog took ages to write. Not just too little fable at the start but as you might know I write quite a lot of it in my phone when I’m not at home. No Blackberry or laptop you see. But on the menu when you go to save the message it says Send, Sending options, Clear text, then Save message. And never ever in all the years I’ve written crap into this phone, have I ever hit clear instead of save... except today typing this blog. It was a veritable jolt of shock. Oh my god what have I done?! My amazing profound blog (not really) is all gone! Nothing, I know, because I know this phone, can be done, no Ctrl+Z, no weird Apple icon+Z. It’s gone. So I had to do it over. And I must tell you I am terrible when it comes to remembering my own ramblings. Ask me to watch a movie and recall all the main actors names and the complete plot, sure, someone else’s lyrics, no problem, but I couldn’t assuredly recite a whole song of mine, it’s just weird like that. But I eventually remembered it all. Yay. You know they have these novels, ‘novels’, in Japan that are written and read entirely on mobile phones? They’re called Keitai and they’re really fashionable apparently. But they must be done on phones not as crap as mine. The aerial is dying on me; its sensitivity is completely shot. And I live in a reception black spot which means I only get messages when I go out- great timing!

But I never did yell out to him. And I never did get a message. That’s why people don’t have sex more often, not sex as an act, a need, a want, a blatant unconnected desire, but as a representation of all the (most often romantic) things we spend hours fantasising about and never do. Because people are all talk and indecision, too tied up in assumptions and social expectations. They ruin a perfect possible opportunity by stating it, and they think too much about what they wish someone would do for them and not enough about doing that for that person.

☆Anika☆