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Nightswimming

Octombrie 16, 2009

I saw you from the very first second, of all the people in the schoolyard, with your ponytail. I hope she’s in my class, I thought.

I hadn’t wanted to come. I had cried the night before, the entire night, and said I didn’t want to go. My mom said I was crazy. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, she said. But I went.

I couldn’t believe my luck when I actually saw you sitting in the front desk, with that pretty smile.

I don’t know why I had that strange reaction that night, maybe it was a sign, a premonition that everybody’s going to be terribly terribly hurt in the end.

I played Nightswimming and hoped it was one of your favorite songs. I wrote the lyrics on the blackboard. Who wants to sing it, I asked, nobody did. Nobody but you. With that rough, hoarse voice of yours. I don’t remember whether you sang it well or made a complete mess out of it. Not that I cared.

I noticed you in the schoolyard. I regretted my eyes were red and swollen from crying.

Then I gave the whole class an assignment, to write a limerick. You wrote those stupid stupid limericks for everybody and then you wrote the stupidest one for yourself. You read it proudly. I felt like kissing you.

You played us a song that I had never heard before and you were like what do you mean you never heard it it’s R.E.M. you ignorant little girl great I came here to teach ignorant schoolgirls who do not know classic REM songs. I felt like strangling you.

We shall all go out and play football during the break, I said. You were very excited and declared you were pretty good at this and you would kick my ass, but you actually sucked. That made you mad and you started kicking around with your skinny legs and said it was because you had a cold because your foot hurt because the hair got in your eyes. The way the hair got in your eyes was quite pleasant to watch.

I was joyful and sad and disturbed and happy and playful and sick and did not understand a thing of what was going on with me. I’m not going out tonight, no thank you, I said, in a feeble attempt to escape before it was too late. It WAS too late.

You came, I shouted. I couldn’t hide my excitement. I have to tell you I never kissed anyone before so I might suck, you said. I mean, if there was a kissing contest, there’s every chance I get the last place, you said. You were almost 17. I didn’t believe you, though I didn’t understand why you would lie to make a bad impression on someone you had a crush on.

Those days in the highschool’s backyard. Kissing on the benches until our mouths got dry. I couldn’t help not thinking that in the movies it did not look so dry. My chin and my neck and my breasts smelling of spit. Your chin is irritated, mom said laughing. No it’s not, I said and got all flushed and ran into my room and listened to the CD you had given me. Nightswimming deserves a quiet night.

I wondered whether it was legal. Your being underage and my being a teacher and everything. I decided I didn’t care too much. I just felt I wouldn’t be able to leave and September’s coming soon I’m pining for the moon.

You gave me your favorite book. You had written on it things that ripped me apart. Then you ran as fast as you could, because boys don’t cry. But I did. On the stairs and in my room and while packing my luggage and in the train and in the bus, staining the dirty window, and on the street and during breakfast and during lunch and during dinner and in grandma’s yard and in bed.

There’s no use to even think of her, I thought. I can’t possibly go back things like these happen all the time it’s not such a tragedy. These things, they go away, replaced by everyday. And I drank scotch with the guys and the girls were singing and we were all dancing and I went with her in the tent and we slept together and her skin was milky and smooth and she was happy. But I wasn’t, I wasn’t. I wasn’t.

He’s back he’s back he’s back he’s back he’s back. I couldn’t breathe very well, and dress well, mom shouted, and don’t stay very late, and my heart pumped blood wildly, but the blood did not go anywhere. It stayed there, in the center of my chest. I heard your voice while I was climbing the old stairs, I almost fainted when I opened the door and, in a perfect world, time should have stopped right there. But it didn’t, and because of that I don’t believe in Peter Pan anymore or in fairies or in Santa Claus.


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7 comentarii leave one →
  1. Octombrie 17, 2009 7:23 am

    i’m speechless, love, speechless in adoration…

  2. Octombrie 18, 2009 9:03 am

    beautiful

    words pale in the after-reading+music mix

    • Octombrie 18, 2009 9:50 am

      ce tare! acum, dar tocmai acum, ţi-am comentat la postul ăla fain despre abuz. şi mă întorc la mine, si văd că ne-am scris una alteia în acelaşi timp. :)

  3. Octombrie 18, 2009 5:05 pm

    da…

  4. Octombrie 19, 2009 7:13 am

    :) see you tonight, darling!

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