And She Was

         She wasn’t pretty. She wasn’t pretty at all.

         And, it wasn’t that she was plain, either. Her face had character, there was no doubt about that.

         But, character doesn’t make a person pretty, it just makes them memorable, and she had a memorable face. Her forehead was too high, for starters, and the fact she always wore her hair back in a ponytail only emphasized it even more. She had full lips, but they were offset by her solid, almost manly jaw, and her eyes were too big, too wide apart.

         And, she was fair, especially for a brunette, the sort of pale skin one would expect on a redhead, minus the freckles. Thanks to this, she blushed and bruised painfully easy, and since she was a klutz, her skin often had some rather interesting shades.

         She was friendly, though, the kind of friendly that’s real and genuine, that reaches out and tells you that there ARE good people in the world. Smart as a whip, too.

         I bumped right into her in the school library, trying to find one of the textbooks from one of my Sociology classes that term to save some money, filtering out any and everything that had nothing to do with letters or numbers on the spines of books that were coated with dust and age.

         We bumped into each other at the same time I had finally caught sight of the book I had been hoping to get, a thin little volume on Gender Relations in some Third World country, and when I staggered back from the initial blow, I lost sight of it. Even as I began apologizing automatically, she did, too.

         The first thing I noticed was that she was tall.

         Not tall for a girl.

         Tall.

         She was almost a good, solid 5’10 that was covered in loose, unflattering clothing that screamed Neo-Hippy, from the worn bell-bottom jeans to the wrap in faded pink and the charm bracelet that made a clicking noise that reminded me of my mother’s. She offered me an awkward smile as she asked me if I was ok, and that prompted a laugh from me – I was taller and outweighed her by… a lot.

         Somehow, we struck up a conversation about classes this, asshole professors that, just small-talk strangers make to fill up a few long seconds, and then we parted ways. I got my book, she went off to another section, and that was that with the girl I had absolutely no interest in.

         By the time I saw her again a few days later in the cafeteria I almost didn’t remember just where I had seen the tall, pale brunette, but there she was on the long line in front of me, with just a bran muffin and a bottle of water in hand. I noticed it was her, just from the back, but I pretended I didn’t recognize her because I really didn’t want to get into a conversation then.

         Sure enough, though, she did look behind and she gave me a much less awkward smile than the last time I had seen her. Not that it did anything to make her pretty, don’t get me wrong, but again, it was genuine, it was confident, and it made me feel pretty rotten for not saying anything initially. The time we spent on that line, we managed to quickly catch up with each other, and after she paid for her bran muffin and her water, she was off running to class.

         I didn’t catch her name until a few days later, when I passed by her and a few of her friends. We exchanged smiles and a wave then, I was on my way. Same thing happened over the next couple of days.

         It wasn’t until the day I ended up sleeping away half of the day in the library that we had our first real conversation. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the quiet, rather comfortable and secluded sections of the library, but my work had been piling up and I needed some sleep, bad. My body wasn’t giving me any choice in the matter. By the time I woke up, I had missed my last class of the day – which, thankfully, I could afford to miss – and figuring studying was a bust, I gathered my things to head home.

         The train pulled into the station just as I hit the stairs, and I dashed down, hopping in the almost empty car, panting, out-of-breath and triumphant as the doors slid shut with that “ding-ding” sound. And, then I heard someone say hello to my left, and there she was.

         So, for the next half an hour, we talked, actually talked. She told me about how the student loans were going to kill her one day, about how boring her Anthropology class was and (in a conspiratorial whisper) warned me not to take it, told me about how she was so ready for summer vacation even though we just had midterms, and tonight’s low was going to still be below freezing. I told her about how I’d managed to piss off most of my teachers by being habitually late to most of my classes, told her about thinking about changing my major, and, jokingly, that on my birthday I was hoping to get kissed by a pretty girl, and that’s all I really wanted.

         She laughed at that, said she had nothing to fear. I laughed a bit awkwardly then, tried to say something complimentary about her looks, but she just told me not to worry about it, she was the way she was. ‘Sides, she said, I was a horrible liar and I should just keep my mouth shut.

         Now, that was a valuable lesson.

         But, anyway. It was her stop first, seeing as to how she lived in the Village, and I lived in Brooklyn and I still had another twenty minutes to go. We said bye, and for some reason, I checked my watch and figured out just what time she must’ve gotten out of school. That had been the most enjoyable conversation I had had with another human being all week, and I certainly didn’t mind her company.

         We began to bump into each other more often, minutes before classes spent giggling over some silliness or a joke, catching up on each other’s lives, and one memorable moment, holding a tissue to her nose to try to stop the bleeding after she had walked into the just polished glass of the library entrance - she had been laughing for the most part, nasally “threatening” the worried security guard standing nearby about putting up a warning sign on the window after they had it cleaned.

         We ended up exchanging numbers that day – I wanted to make sure she had gotten home ok and was fine, and she wanted my number just to give me a call to reassure me that she wasn’t dead.

         A few days later, we ended up hanging out around Union Square, once again, just… talking. Surprisingly – or not so much – we had gotten to know each other pretty well, and we spent the day people watching, something we both did on occasion. And, every once in a while, when she smiled at a joke or brushed that stray lock of hair back behind her ear, or when she laughed, I couldn’t help but think that maybe she wasn’t so unpretty after all.

         Then, my birthday rolled around, and I was… depressed. Everything had been going wrong that week, from the papers I had to write or rewrite to keep my grades at an acceptable level, the arguments with my parents over money, the arguments with my friends over their dumb shit and my dumb shit, and it having to fucking rain that day which was supposed to be MY day to just sit back, relax and celebrate another year survived on this beautiful blue rock of ours. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep.

         She called me after class, wishing me a happy birthday and was telling me to come by her place to pick up my present when I got the chance, then asked what my plans were. Having enough tact – that time – to not mention all that I had planned was my right hand (or my left, for variety) and other parts of my anatomy getting intimate for a while, she offered to stomach a few of my kung-fu films if she provided dinner.

         Sounded like a plan to me.

         So, with at least something to do, I took the train downtown and ended up in her living room, sitting on the ground, her curled up on the couch behind me and we watched Jet Li kick a whole lotta ass in a black suit in a dojo in a China occupied by a bunch of racist Japanese dudes.

         ‘Course, she didn’t cook after all – we just ordered Chinese takeout – and watched Donnie Yen kick a whole lotta ass not in a black suit not in a dojo in a China occupied by hordes of bandits in need of their asses kicked.

         Well, she was watching, anyway. I was, too, for the most part, but…every once in a while I’d look over at her, shoveling tempura into her mouth with expert precision via chopsticks. She caught me once, quirking an eyebrow in a silent inquiry, and I just told her I was making sure that she was watching. She smirked and cuffed me on the arm – and, that started a tickle fight that ended up with both of us on the ground, sore and laughing and panting and wrapped up in each other’s arms.

         If this had been a blockbuster, Hollywood movie, we’d have looked into each other’s eyes, our laughter trailing off as I gently caressed her cheek, a look of longing and want shimmering in those too big eyes of hers as I slowly moved in to kiss her, my heart thundering in my chest...

         We ended up just watching the rest of the movie on her shag rug, my arms around her, realizing that her hair smelled faintly of sawdust, her skin of vanilla, all too aware of her presence, but surprisingly… comfortable.

         It was approaching twelve by the time we had to get untangled, laughing, to take a bathroom break. When I came out, she was back on the couch, her long, skinny legs tucked underneath her as she was going through the DVD menu of another movie I had brought over, then asked if I was going to go soon.

         I told her that she had a much better TV than me, and that if she expected me to leave THAT behind, she was out of her fuckin’ mind.

         She laughed, then patted the couch next to her and of course, I sat down beside her. As Jackie Chan found a reason to kick a whole lotta ass in a black suit not in a dojo in a China occupied by a buncha racist English dudes, we cuddled.

         No kissing, no necking, not even a hard-on.

         We just cuddled.

         One rolled around and we were both yawning. She offered to make some coffee before I left, I said sure. As she got up to make some and I stretched out completely on the sofa, I realized just how much fun I was having. When she came back and offered me my cup, she asked why I was smiling so much – was I thinking about the pretty girl I had kissed today? That made her grin as she began to sip her own coffee.

         I chuckled and told her that no, that wasn’t what I was thinking about and I never got the chance to kiss a pretty girl, I was too busy over here, not even getting cake. She didn’t say anything then, just drank her coffee.

         And, when we were done, when I had set down my cup and was midway asking her if she wanted to see one more movie before I left, she leaned over, placed her hands on my shoulders, pushed me down and gave me a kiss.

         It lasted no more than five seconds.

         There was no tongue.

         It was the most intense kiss I had ever had in my entire life.

         And, when she was done, she leaned back and breathed Happy Birthday, even if it’s not from a pretty girl.

         Nothing said I.

         Trying to figure out what just happened was I.

         She rolled her eyes, though as she got up and was about to say forget that ever happened, when I grabbed her hand, pulled her back to me as gently as possible and…returned it.

         We ended up in her bedroom, giggling through kisses, as if the very idea was funny and it was just an extended joke between the two of us that had gone in a very unexpected direction.

         I had never known just how full and soft her lips were, even though our breath wasn’t exactly fresh thanks to the coffee.

         I, in no way, minded. We spent a good while just sitting on her bed, her in my lap, her arms around my neck, my arms around her waist, making out.

         By the time she was ready to go further, her skin was flushed pink, both of us taking shallow breaths, my hands trembling in anticipation… and nerves. Getting her out of the shirt was easy enough - all she had on was a sweatshirt - but underneath was a bra that did not want to be taken off by my shaking fingers. She laughed as she told me not to worry about it as she took it off herself.

         Her breasts weren’t small, weren’t big, just a perky handful, skin turning a brighter shade of red, it seemed, with each breath. She had pale, small erasers for nipples that quickly turned pink underneath my fingers, underneath my mouth when she climbed off of my lap and on to the bed.

         We never stopped laughing, never stopped having a good time. The awkward moments when clothes decided to be stubborn, or being naked in front of one another underneath that light that spared nothing, and of course, the damned condom that we both spent some time figuring out which side was which, were smoothed away by us being just so relaxed and in tune with each other.

         And, when she was on top of me, as we moved and grinded and explored each other with our hands, as I felt just how soft her skin was, the roundness of her womanly stomach, her surprisingly full hips, I looked up at her…

         Her hair a dark, wavy curtain that swayed with the rhythm of our bodies, her eyes closed, her head down then tilting back, her lips parting as she breathed and moaned softly, as she glowed with perspiration and sex…

         I told her she was beautiful.

         And, she was.

         She laughed, graciously, before coming down harder on me, and my hands found their way on her hips. It was soon over for the both of us.

         When we lay there, still a bit damp from our shower, I kissed her cheek and whispered that she was beautiful again.

         She only smiled.