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I Am the Man, Part 2
I Am the Man, Part 2
Walking to the library, I open my pack of cigarettes and stop in the middle of the sidewalk. A new pack of cigarettes is one of life's sublime pleasures, the smell is like raisins and the density of the pack gives you the feeling that you've started something fresh. In general, I advocate clean living, so a pack of cancer-sticks and a cup of coffee is all I really need to stay awake. Putting that first cigarette into my mouth, lighting it up, I know I have a long night ahead of me, but I feel prepared, armed to the teeth to take on the dark.
The library lobby is smoke free because America is a country filled with sissified bitches who are afraid of inhaling carcinogens, so I finish my smoke outside. I can't stand the outside of the library at night; there are no lights on the mall, and the flourescent lights of the libraries outer foyer cast a sick green glow into the darkness. I pray that they install incandescent lightbulbs; they may be less efficient, but the light they cast is warmer and more comforting. Flourescent lights are cold and sterile and they give you a feeling of being in an institution.
I finish my cigarette and walk into library, past dozens of people in groups, all cramming, all furiously studying a subject that they've put off for a few weeks. A few groups of asian students, some studying engineering, others mathematics; a group of sorority girls doing more gossiping than studying, and one poor hapless, whipped fraternity brother with a hang-dog face watching his girl talk to her friends. I walk past these people and into the first floor library, going straight to the dictionaries. I grab the English-Arabic dictionary from the shelf, spot my favorite working couch and sit down. Without a computer near me, I get a surprising amount of work done; it's about 10:30, and I write a page and a half, working through the fatigue that eventually creeps up on you, working with purpose and fear. I keep up like this until midnight, when my phone rings.
It's a number I don't recognize, and my head is so full of foreign words I forget for a second about the Metro and the girl with my number. How on earth could I completely forget about V?
V: "Hey, interloper."
Now that I hear the voice, I recognize the person and my face lights up.
Me: "Well I'll be damned. I didn't think you'd let that date drag on for this long."
V: "Have you been waiting for me to call."
Me: "I wouldn't call it waiting so much as expecting. I knew you would call, I just wondered when you were going to do it."
V: "You're a pretty ballsy guy to say something like that to a girl you barely know."
Me: "Yea, well, you have to have a pair made of brass to do some of the things I've done."
As I'm talking, I'm also gathering my supplies and stuffing them in my back. People hate it when you're talking on a phone in the middle of the library, and I don't blame them, so I pack up my shit and head back for the lobby. Once I'm there, I start talking a bit louder and more freely. V and I chat for a good twenty minutes; my tiredness fades from my body, my eyes are open and my whole mind feels alert. I feel like I ingested a handful of crank and I'm ready for anything. V had just been dropped off by the tragic hipster and had remembered what I said about salvaging the evening. She asks what I had in mind, and it's at this point I realize I didn't have anything in mind. I have no plan, and I don't know what to tell her, so I think of the only thing in the world that cannot be turned down.
Me: "Do you like milkshakes?"
V: "A milkshake? That's going to salvage my evening?"
Me: "Maybe not a milkshake by itself, but if you put enough whiskey in it, it'll solve all your problems."
v: "And you've got whiskey?"
Me: "Of course. Who doesn't carry around a flask of whiskey in the middle of the night."
V: "Now you're talking like a man I want to hang out with."
V gives me the directions to her house and five minutes later I pick her up. I'm a bit disappointed to see that she exchanged her skirt for a pair of old jeans, but I'm very pleased to see that she's in a better mood than when I first met her. I drove her over to the Denny's on MLK and 35; Denny's makes excellent milkshakes for the simple reason that they don't scrimp on the supplies. Every milkshake will be thick because they throw in ice cream with abandon. Not only that, but they also give you the rest of the milkshake that wouldn't fit into the glass. Genius!
Our whiskey-milkshake social lasts for about an hour, and in this hour I have my game at all star level. I'm funny, smart, I look her in the eye, I listen to what she's saying, but most importantly, I disagree with her. A lot. For a woman like V, most men are sycophants. They get a rough idea about your principles, and then they try to kill you with agreement. I don't, and by doing this, I demonstrate that I'm not afraid to take chances, that I'm assertive, and that I'm not intimidated by her. All of these qualities combined form what is generally called confidence, and it is confidence that makes a man attractive.
When our milkshake is done, we climb into the car and I drive her to her home. As I'm driving, I pay attention to her body, especially her hands. She uses her left hand to play with her hair, constantly setting it behind her ears and pulling it back out again. Her right hand stays within a general area defined by her navel and her inner thigh. I purposely don't say anything to her, while we're driving; in fact, I don't even look at her until we get to the corner of 24th and Guadalupe. I stop at the red light, reach over with my right hand and start stroking the inside of her left thigh. She shifts her body, pointing her legs a bit more towards me and reclinning back into the corner between the door and the seat. When the green light comes on, I take my hand away from her and place it back on the steering wheel; she unbuttons and unzips her jeans and slides her hand udner her panties. We tease each other like this until we arrive at her home a few minutes later. As soon as I kill the engine, she gets out, never bothering to zip up her pants, and slinks toward her door. I get out of the car and follow her until we arrive at the door. She turns at me and we stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds until I break the spell, touching her hair, then grabbing it and with my other hand grabbing her waist, pulling her into me and kissing her. We remain in this embrace for god knows how long, until she pulls away from me, unlocks the door, walks inside and beckons me to follow her.
To be continued...
4/18/2005 7:57 pm
I'm procrastinating my Physics again reading about you having brass balls and conquering the seemingly unconquerable.
Get to the final chapter, damn it! It's been half a month already.
You an Aggie?