What's your name again?
Say something... Say something nitwit. She's not gonna be here forever? Ask something, Ask anything. Ask her what she's studying
She comes in, she sits down. You look straight-faced onto your big encyclopedia-like books, trying so hard to concentrate your eyes on the words on the page, but the printing on the page turns to blobs of white and black, mixing your senses up like the effect that alcohol would have had on you had you taken one too many sips of that darn thing on the party last Friday. Your fingers are fidgeting, and you try to look at her without raising your head, turning your eyeballs at angles so great that you can feel them push up against the sockets of your eyes. She steps out to go get some water. You feel relieved because the growing anxiety was making your palms all sweaty and your head spin round and round.
When she comes back you just have to comment on her skittles on the table and how much your preference for M&Ms over Skittles is maybe a show of how like poles can attract… Well, scratch that… don’t say that. That’s stupid. Arghhh! It’s fine, you’ll figure it out. You got this.
She comes back in, seats nonchalantly on the other end of the desk. You listen to her as she takes her breaths- inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. You can’t even breathe right now because her breathes have enchanted you. You pick up the pen in front of you, swivel it around, study it’s shape and curves, and how it feels in between your fingers. This, the study of your pen, is the most effective portion of your purported study session!
Close your books. You want to leave. You ask her what she’s studying for. Finally, you open your mouth dumbass. She strikes conversation with you. It’s going pretty well so far. Keep going. You talk for a while, and now you know more about her that you do about your roommate. Her name… Ask her her name… Don’t even try to walk out of that room without forgetting her name. Colette is her name. You confirm this one more time before you leave. And off you go smiling off to the heavens.
That wasn’t that hard, was it?
You have class in 30. Put on some music. Walk to class. Thoughts come streaming into your head. You are dozing off in class. Take off your jacket, grab your pen and do some active listening. You’re not sure if the lecturer cares that your eyes are struggling to stay closed but you won’t let them. You scribble something down- something the lecturer said about inheritance or polymorphism in Java. You console yourself that you’ll just go over what was taught after the class. What was her name again? C-something. You forgot her name? Carol? Nah … C with a “t” sound somewhere. The lecturer mentions something to do with a corvette. Nah, that’s not it. Was it Charlotte? C’mon. You can feel the syllables of her name form at the surface of your cortex, but just not yet. Facebook is the answer. You look up “Ca” as a starting prefix. Too many results. Nothing comes up. What did you expect? That Facebook will come running to your rescue? You can’t just remember it. You drop your shoulders, look to the light projected upon the screen, as the lecturer goes on rambling on and on. You grab the arms of the chair, and silently curse into nothingness. You just have to ask her, when and if you see her again, with a tint of guilt on the tone of your voice: “What’s your name again?”
She comes in, she sits down. You look straight-faced onto your big encyclopedia-like books, trying so hard to concentrate your eyes on the words on the page, but the printing on the page turns to blobs of white and black, mixing your senses up like the effect that alcohol would have had on you had you taken one too many sips of that darn thing on the party last Friday. Your fingers are fidgeting, and you try to look at her without raising your head, turning your eyeballs at angles so great that you can feel them push up against the sockets of your eyes. She steps out to go get some water. You feel relieved because the growing anxiety was making your palms all sweaty and your head spin round and round.
When she comes back you just have to comment on her skittles on the table and how much your preference for M&Ms over Skittles is maybe a show of how like poles can attract… Well, scratch that… don’t say that. That’s stupid. Arghhh! It’s fine, you’ll figure it out. You got this.
She comes back in, seats nonchalantly on the other end of the desk. You listen to her as she takes her breaths- inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. You can’t even breathe right now because her breathes have enchanted you. You pick up the pen in front of you, swivel it around, study it’s shape and curves, and how it feels in between your fingers. This, the study of your pen, is the most effective portion of your purported study session!
Close your books. You want to leave. You ask her what she’s studying for. Finally, you open your mouth dumbass. She strikes conversation with you. It’s going pretty well so far. Keep going. You talk for a while, and now you know more about her that you do about your roommate. Her name… Ask her her name… Don’t even try to walk out of that room without forgetting her name. Colette is her name. You confirm this one more time before you leave. And off you go smiling off to the heavens.
That wasn’t that hard, was it?
You have class in 30. Put on some music. Walk to class. Thoughts come streaming into your head. You are dozing off in class. Take off your jacket, grab your pen and do some active listening. You’re not sure if the lecturer cares that your eyes are struggling to stay closed but you won’t let them. You scribble something down- something the lecturer said about inheritance or polymorphism in Java. You console yourself that you’ll just go over what was taught after the class. What was her name again? C-something. You forgot her name? Carol? Nah … C with a “t” sound somewhere. The lecturer mentions something to do with a corvette. Nah, that’s not it. Was it Charlotte? C’mon. You can feel the syllables of her name form at the surface of your cortex, but just not yet. Facebook is the answer. You look up “Ca” as a starting prefix. Too many results. Nothing comes up. What did you expect? That Facebook will come running to your rescue? You can’t just remember it. You drop your shoulders, look to the light projected upon the screen, as the lecturer goes on rambling on and on. You grab the arms of the chair, and silently curse into nothingness. You just have to ask her, when and if you see her again, with a tint of guilt on the tone of your voice: “What’s your name again?”
Keep writing…you could be the next Chimamanda …interesting post.
ReplyDeleteThanks Cytra for taking a read. I definitely look toward writing more
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