Page 52 of The One That Ran Away
Sometimes you have to laugh to stave off the tears, you know?
I didn’t care if she left me a note the next day saying she wanted to make it up to me. I knew it was a lie. She would stand me up again, or cancel on me, or make fun of me in that notorious “gotcha!” moment we all fear. I was tired of being a slave to my hopes for her. I needed to let go, preferably before graduation, when I knew I would never see her again.
If there’s anything I’ve learned in my years of amateur divination, however, it’s that the universe finds a way to bring you back to the person you’re meant to see.
As usual, it was happenstance. I found her smoking a cigarette near the fountain where I watched her run off with a man old enough to be her father. She caught sight of me as I walked by, and with a grin the size of my obsession for her, flagged me down in such a way that I couldn’t ignore her without it being blatantly obvious.
Besides, my stupid common sense told me that if she wanted to talk to me that badly, then it must be fate.
“Hey!” Shannon greeted, as if we were old pals who hadn’t seen each other in weeks. “There you are! I’ve been wondering what happened to you!”
I fell into the trap she laid. I don’t think she knew she was laying a trap. Back then, I thought it all carefully orchestrated on her behalf, but now I know it was mere coincidence. A crazy chance that unfolded because either the universe is real and wanted me to have something, or because life really is stranger than fiction.
Two days later, I was at her apartment door, fussing with my button-up and hoping my hair didn’t look stupid. She promised me nobody else would be there that night. A feat, since she had three roommates.
She was the only one there. That was my second surprise. The first? That she answered her door, let alone with a smile on her face.
To this day, I couldn’t tell you what we talked about. I was too aware of where I was, who I was with, and what it meant to be in Shannon’s home. You have to understand. For those two years we lived in the same dorm, I always knew which room was hers from the outside, because she had these bright, futuristic lights hanging up on her wall. I used to stare at them as I walked across the quad in front of our building, wondering what she was doing, who she was with, or if she was home. Would I ever have a chance with her?
Would I ever see what the inside of that room was like?
She didn’t have the lights anymore, but she suggested we hang out in her private bedroom after one of her roommates came home unexpectedly. That girl, whom I did not know, went into her room and wasn’t seen for the rest of the evening. Yet that was still enough for Shannon to invite me into her room.
I don’t know what I expected. I barely knew what was happening. One moment I was walking toward Shannon Parker’s apartment, and the next thing I knew, I was in her room, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at band posters that suggested we had more in common than I ever anticipated.
I wanted to talk about our similar tastes in rock music. I wanted to compliment her lavender-themed bedroom set. God, did I ever want to make a joke about her bras hanging up to dry over her closet door.
To this day, I’m not sure what’s real. I feel like I’ve made up most of that night. From the invitation, to how happy she was to host me, to suggesting we have our cocktails while watching a popular movie on her little TV on her dresser while we huddled beneath her blanket on her bed…
My heart beat so hard that night. Is it any wonder that I couldn’t stop staring at her? Smelling her, when she was so close? Even the faint scent of tobacco beneath her shampoo and perfume wasn’t enough to deter me from getting closer to her. I knew it was a bad idea. Only heartbreak came with a woman like her. Even if she wanted me back, what would we do after graduation? Would it be enough to say I got a kiss from her? Would that placate me to my dying day, whether I ended up with another woman or not?
I don’t remember what movie we watched that night. I was so absorbed in her presence that I didn’t dare commit any extraneous details to my memory. What did I commit to my memory instead? The texture of her fluffy hair as it brushed against my cheek. The light body of her baggy shirt as it fell effortlessly against her skin. The kick of her naked legs as she acted like a girl on the phone. The slit of her eyes in the dim light of her room, optimized for movie watching. The heat of her fingers as they tenderly wrapped around mine, my heart racing, my loins aching, my brain screaming that this was a dream and I was about to wake up.
Her lips on mine. I don’t know who kissed who first. Was it possible that we followed through on the same idea at the same time?
No… I wasn’t kissing Shannon Parker. Shannon Parker was kissingme!
Suppose it’s possible that I had amassed enough karma to make my greatest dream come true. And, damn, if this was Shannon’s grand idea of “making it up to me,” then I wondered what she would do if she ever stood me up at our inevitable wedding.
Do you know why I don’t remember what movie we watched that night? The real reason? Here’s a hint: I was too busy watching the undulations of her body as she succumbed to my haphazard seductions.
I wanted to do everything with her. Kiss her whole body. Give her pleasure that I had yet to give any other woman. Find out what it was like to be on top of her – and to have her on top of me.
What if I say we did that? All of that? What if I claim to have tasted her body and invited her into mine?
It was the most normal thing in the world. Making love to Shannon, that is. For two years I had pined after her, wanted her, imagined what she would look like naked or wearing my clothes. I wanted to be the one thrusting between her legs and to be the one feeling her thrusts come for me. Our limbs, our bodies were meant to be intertwined. I wanted a portrait of us in the most ridiculous positions, searching for meaning, finding it in each other.
I wanted to hear her come.
Me? I’m easy. I was easier back then. Assuring my pleasure was like asking the heavens to rain, let alone at that time of year. While the blissful raindrops hit her window, my fingers hit her in places I don’t think anyone, man or woman, had ever before. I didn’t know a woman could be so beautiful. Not even her. Shannon had the body of a fallen angel: perfect, divine, and forbidden.
God hadn’t wasted a single second on her. There were no afterthoughts to the curve of her spine or the heft of her thighs. Every inch of her was a piece of nirvana. Her lips were so soft that I worried I ruined them whenever I kissed them with the desperation of a young, horny woman.
I knew it was her first time with a girl. I wanted it to be special. Perfect. Unforgettable. Even if we didn’t end up together for the rest of our lives, I wanted her to search out other women to be with, based on how good it had felt with me.
My ego was huge. It still wasn’t as big as my need for her.
I don’t think anyone could really understand how much she meant to me. I had already made myself an utter fool so many times, yet I was willing to do it again, again,again.If she wanted to step on me to reach the loftiest heights, then I would prostrate myself and beg her to place her foot on the back on my head. If she strung me along with those coy looks and haughty airs I had come to love, she could have any other lovers she wanted. I would dedicate my heart and soul to Shannon Parker, but I didn’t care if she never felt the same way about me – as long as I got to be with her.
