“At times Ginny felt something rise up in her throat, wet and thick, as if the last shreds of her heart were loosening. She’d try and force it out but it wouldn’t come. It crept back into her chest and squatted there, and wouldn’t let her do anything right.”
–Jean Thompson

isn’t that the most depressing beautiful shit you’ve ever read?

i was taking this upper-division communications course taught by a dynamo of critical thought and short blonde hair that, had i been sober during the time period, i should have appreciated more for her enthusiasm and fire. small class, thirty people. in any case, there was this girl in the class who usually sat in the row in front of me. eve. i knew her name because she’d write it over and over at the top of her notes, doodling flowered script of those three letters with just enough balance of whimsy and purpose to drive me crazy and make my neck hot. i took shitty notes in that class.

of course, she was beautiful. pale alabaster skin scented with some fruity bouquet which i attributed to magic, but was probably just a combination of pantene and pink lotion. she wasn’t smoldering or slutty, but she was captivating. she had that shimmering ethereal quality; stark, as if she were sculpted from marble set against the world’s burlap background.

eve always wore her hair up, except for the day she decided to ensnare my heart. she was doodling butterflies that day; it was always her name or butterflies. fucking butterflies. small flocks taking flight off of her page into my eyes, landing on the part of my brain which directs conscious thought. anyways, she set her pen down and stretched that maddening stretch you girls do, soft and deliberate. then, as if it were the most sane thing in the world, she reached up and took her hair out of its bun.

her long gorgeous brown hair. a slow-motion cascade of heaven set free, rippling down her shoulders, down her back, down down down. my soul was agog. i swear i don’t know how i stopped myself from reaching out and touching it. thankfully, the shock kept my hands in place.

all this time, all of this splendor had been hidden right atop her head. as if i didn’t have enough problems already.

then in a series of motions so fluid they defied logic, she wrapped up her hair back into its bun, held in place by a miniature chopstick.

she settled into a soft sigh and returned her attention to the lecture leaving me staring at the back of her re-exposed neck, even more tantalizing than before.

some short time after that, maybe a week or so, i was sitting in the row in front of her, knowing full well that i had nothing wondrous to offer as a distraction for eve sitting directly behind me. my hair was short and black, with no mysteries to unfold; my neck, scruffy.

so, without really thinking it through, i started doodling butterfly nets.

the connotation didn’t really sink in until the third one or so. a net in motion, indicated by multiple receding curved lines. it was at that point i realized i had just done something overt. and i half-wished she was paying attention to the lecture as she should, so that i’d be spared the uncomfortable ramifications of barging into her notes from a row away.

at the end of class i stood up and caught her eyes as i was leaving. her lips were a slight smile, her eyes shining back at mine. she had seen my nets, but her reaction was poised, giving me nothing. i think i said, “hey,” or something equally mundane, and paused mid-stride,

and then walked away feeling her smile fading in my rear-view memory.

“hey.” that’s all i had. or rather, that’s all i could think to do. pathetic really. and things haven’t really changed.

[…lost data]