Sunday's Story - The Goth, The Pretty Girl and Me

The Goth, The Pretty Girl and Me

His hair plunged down in front of his eyes and made him seem all sorts of rugged, with a sculpted jaw and a whole load of stubble he looked like the front member of an idyllic rock band. His air gave off a pretentious this-took-me-no-time-at-all kind of look that made her appear even more uncanny.

She was stunning, a perfect kind of gorgeous that no one could deny. Her hair was always pristine and her nails were always just the right length and shape. Her clothes fit her exactly and her defined physique wasn’t a rare sight. But strangely everyone thought they were the perfect pair.

Although they were stereotypically chalk and cheese and it seemed like the goth had fallen for the pretty girl. Everyone knew that she was the one who worked hard for his affections not the other way around.

He was so care free that no one could convince him to do anything. All he was concerned with was making sure no one ever saw inside his notebook, even though he flaunted it round like a new mobile phone; constantly holding it. Before she came onto the scene we were friends.

We used to mope around together, I was the only one that saw him smile. I’d never seen inside his notebook but sometimes he’d give me clues; “it’s filled with drawings that make me smile” “I love everything inside it”. He’d always hum songs from his favourite band while filling it in, so I presume it’s filled with band logos and self-portraits, because yes, he is secretly that vain!

She upturned her life about five months ago and just decided he was to be hers. She probably lives in some fancy house with a fancy car and a fancy mother and father who brought her up in a fancy way, just to be fancy. I won’t deny it; I’m not fond of her. When she turned up, he faded and our simple friendship eventually sizzled out.

We never made an effort to be overly precocious, we just worked. He seemed to know me without me having to utter a word, I guess we were just similar, he didn’t need to ask because he felt the same. Eugh, this sounds so clichéd and no, I’m not in love with him; let’s just say I appreciate his being. But I also wouldn’t say no if he asked me for a dance…

It is our prom after all, to rekindle our friendship would be much more of a crowning moment than announcing our king and queen. He’s such a dork. I’m stood on the side-lines and I’m just watching him try to boogie (with notebook in hand) with her and the popular kids, he cannot dance to save his life. Every now and then he looks over and I’m hoping he’s just as desperate for us to be friends again as I am.

This dance is such a bore. Every girl is in a low cut dress and flaunting it even if they don’t have it, and I guess all the boys are loving it because I haven’t overheard any complaints. Teachers watch the doors like prison guards, and the boys well, they did their best to pull off a suit. Most of them look like boys dressed in their fathers work attire, and bless their candid attempts at bow ties.

Jase however is one boy who knows how to rock a waistcoat, tight fitting with a chain hanging off his slim cut trousers and some sexy man shoes that ‘clip-clop’ just the right way. He flings his hair so gently and tilts his head just so, that it falls just slightly over his left eye, I’ve never noticed that before; I guess I’ve looked but not really seen.

“I thought a corsage might be a bit pink for you” he exclaimed, snapping me out of my internal monologue. He then took my hand and placed in it his notebook. “You’ll understand when you reach the last page.” And he was gone.

I smiled as I followed his footsteps out the door and passed the glare of the guard. My fingers fiddled with the elastic that bound the pages, nervous to unveil what I had been so keen but calm about seeing. To think about how many times I’d thought about stealing it, or snatching it from his hands.

As I lifted the first page, his favourite song came into my head and because the music from the DJ booth was so loud, I let the words grace my lips. What I saw, I was shocked and in awe and confused. It was me. Me in a thousand different poses, with a thousand different expressions. How, and when and why?

I’m not really one for mirrors so I flipped through the rest of the book and not a single page was blank… I slowed as I neared the end and stopped as I reached a page with words. Fifteen words to be exact; ‘If I could spend my day in silence, it’s your silence I’d want to hear’. The next page contained another fifteen words; ‘If I could spend a whole day laughing, it’s your laugh I’d want to share’. And the next; ‘If I could spend a whole day smiling, it’s your smile that’d cause my own’.

I brushed my face when I realised silent tears were making their escape down my cheek. The final page was blank, apart from a tiny inscription on the very last line. ‘I’m yours, if you’ll have me!’

I didn’t even have to think about it. I was up and running, out the door, past the bouncer, through the corridors. I burst out through the fire escape, because I knew exactly where he’d be; under our tree. I kept running until I was three feet away from him; “Since when?” I stated.

‘Since when’ are you serious Ray? Did you seriously just ask him that! Who cares!

He chuckled and smiled before taking three very slow foot steps towards me. “What do you care?” I exhaled with a knowing shrug and he lowered his lips to mine.

Stay Excellent 

- Chantal DeHaine