I sat at a table beside her table and I was glad. Glad that in this life I got to sit so near a creature. Up she got and left she did and with a boyfriend she was too. He wore cool beat boots, a loose shirt, perfectly tussled hair, beat pants--he was taller than me (as most in America are) and I wanted to beat him up. He seemed like a nice enough fuck, but I wanted to beat him up and then perhaps be good friends with him after I took away his girlfriend.
She was wearing little bird boots. Not beat but nice but plain and simple and black. Those boots would be worn by hip enough birds if boots by birds were worn. She was hardly wearing little black girl shorts over her girl leggings stockings, but she hardly existed for how small she was so it was good. She wore a black little sweater too. Her black hair pulled back with strands falling around her face was beautiful. Her face was beautiful. A California wanna be New York girl she was.
She was the kind of girl that you could tell wanted to be bad, but didn't quite have it in her. She, the kind of girl that for some reason had never felt content or complete. She was looking for something and she'd look for it all over the world if she could and I hoped she would look for it all over the world and I hoped she would find it--perhaps with me. I thought I could love her and maybe I can.
She was so small.
The usual heart palpitations followed as the girl and her lucky bloke left. And thoughts entered in my head and in my head I spake with myself.
"Ah well don't get down on yourself ole buddy. She was with a dude. There were no chance to speak to her. You fall in love so easily, so readily, and so often."
"Ah you're right, me, good observation. Hey do you think she looked at us?" I was kind of like Gollum from Lord of the Rings.
"I do think she looked at us. I think she likes us."
"Well, I sure as hell do like her."
"Ya, well why don't you just let your feelings run away with you, like I know you will? Just because of the way she looks, because of her beauty, you will lose your mind won't you?"
"I think I might. We men, we men it's so simple isn't it? I think I could make love to her and still love her afterwards."
"You're crazy. We're crazy."
"We are. I am."
"Well, she gone."
"Maybe, I see her again."
"I doubt it."
"Me too."
And so I walked about and about picking up daisies or whatever the fuck at whatever park in whatever part of London I was. The wind blew, the temperature was low, but my hip black jacket kept me warm it did. I fancied that I did indeed look dashing if I did indeed deem myself to be. Home to my flat I went.
Checked my Facebook I did. It could not be! It was! Glory! Joy! Pleasure! Joy again! Could this new friend request I behold be the same ballerina I did see in the midst of so many volumes of books? It could be and it was! How could she have found me? Why would she have found me? And then my spirits were lowered when a thought occurred me: "Maybe she just recognized me and this at all special was not."
And she wrote, "I found you through a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend here on this space Facebook and I thought you looked familiar and I thought I had seen you around and I think about you and there's something about you. I wanted to find you."
I wrote back, "Among many books we found one the other. One day, I will make a beautiful library your own."
She was young and cool and her favorite book was Lolita. I was older. She was younger. Maybe she was trying to be cool. She had a boyfriend.
"Fuck it." I thought. She said there was something about me. And to me, there was something about her. I didn't just want to jack-off about her and daydream about traveling the world with her (I'm not saying that not I didn't not do that). So I kind of put her out of my mind.
Drunk, she said she didn't trust herself around me. Sober, I don't know how much I trust myself around myself or her. I wanted to tell her "Hey I love you. Let's travel the world 'till we are old and 'till we die. Listen to much good music, drink much good wine, eat little good food to keep our bodies little and attractive, read many good stories, make much grand love, and play the grandest of grand pianos where I'll play the low end and you play the high."
To which her reply, "I do."
"And when we die and see God we'll say 'Thanks.'"
Nothing became of nothing. But in the future, maybe, something becomes of something.
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