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THE WORST PERSON: the girl that doesn't call |
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She From He is a project/series that has been building inside of me for about a decade, only I never knew it. You see, whenever I liked a girl I would always imagine conversations, or interactions, or situations which would lead us further along in our "relationship" (good or bad). After a while, I would start just imagining stories, not about me, but just guy/girl interactions leading to the start or end of a relationship. In July of 2001 I haphazardly moved to Toronto, the big smoke, and have since had, what could be possibly, the worst (or best) record of meeting women and nothing happening. It's almost funny if it weren't so sad. She From He started from this funny sadness, and much of She From He stems from too much time spent thinking about these women that don't call, but, at the same time, much of it is just creative imagination, and sometimes it's both. After the first dozen were written I started to draw again, which I hadn't done for quite some time, mostly female faces, from my head, from pictures in magazines, from pictures on the net, and soon She From He stories came from these faces, and vice versa (the pictures will come when I get a scanner). Short and innocuous, goofy, sad, funny, happy... She From He covers the whole range. I havn't quite figured out how to organize them yet, so they're here, in one lump sum, chronological order. Please enjoy. Also available is She From He: A Play Told From Two Sides, Over The Phone. Go read that too, it's strange and long, funny and challenging. 1 |2 |3 |4 |5 |6 |7 |8 |9 |10 |11 |12 |13 |14 |15 |16 |17 |18 |19 |20 |21 |22 |23 |24 |25 |26 |27 |28 |29 |30 |31 |32 |33 |34 |35 |36 |37 |38 |39 |40 |41 |42 |43 |44 |45 |46 |47 |48 |49 |50 She From He 1: the actress She was beautiful, a model, and an actress He knew she was way beyond him. So did she. But that didn't stop them from trying eachother on for a while. see also Hollywood, an expanded She From He story. She From He 2: hey cowboy. And she said "Hey cowboy" which livened his spirits immediately. Maybe, he thought, maybe now's my chance. But he couldn't. Despite her wry smile, her cocked head, and the way the tips of her hair brushed her shoulderblades, he couldn't. "She trusts me not to," he thought aloud. "Whazzat?" she asked, her eyes slightly slanted as her mouth grew wider. His brain wasn't working, and no snappy answer came to him. "God, you look really good today," he said as casually as possible. She shot him that look -- that look beautiful, insecure women shoot at a compliment. Her snappy reply was at hand though. "I havn't been called God in a long time." He tittered. "D'ya want a drink?" he offered. "At 3 in the afternoon?" she questioned back at him. "Three?" He was puzzled. She flashed a look at her bare left wrist. "Oh," she mock-shocked, "I must still be on Australia time." A look of bewilderment splashed across his face. She grinned largely. "Just for fun," she blurted, with a shrug and a smile. He's hopelessly lost in her, and he doesn't know if he can ever recover. All he knows is he can never have her. She From He 3: pop rocks It was a rock concert and he was there for the band... until she arrived. She looked bored and was glancing around at everything but the stage. Despite the light show in front of him which, really, by all rights, should have gathered and clasped hold of his attention, he was fixated on her. More than once their eyes met, and he wondered why she was there if she was so bored. She lowered her head onto her arms which were resting on the railing. A man put his arm around her. She began to cry and he wondered what that was all about. Then areally good song came on. She From He 4: month names It was August. That was her name too. He made a stupid joke about her having friends named April, May and June. She asked if he knew them. She From He 5: tall buxom brunette Cars have crashed from the sight of her before, he knew it. It was late, dark, and Friday night. He was going home, she was heading out. He was waiting at the bus stop as she passed, she was unbelievable, the Korean guy beside him was as transfixed as he. They couldn't divert their eyes. Her hair flowed slowly behind her, long and wavy. Her breasts moved in rhythm with her steps. Her footwear was low, but she was not. His initial thought was how small he felt before her, how small every man would feel before her, except maybe a blind guy... nope, even them. She was too beautiful, too sexy, too much for this planet. She passed behind him, and his eyes and head followed, neck craned as far as it could without his body having to move. He wanted to whip his head around to see her from behind, to see if she was still walking down the street, to see if she really was. But he didn't. His eyes instead met the Korean man's beside him, and they both nodded and sighed. A shared moment. As she passed, she wondered if he would have the same inferiority complex as all the other guys she's dated. She From He 6: the waitress He wasn't feeling well at all when he first met her, so he was either distracted or initially uninterested. But a few pratfalls with a tray of drinking glasses got his attention. And as she, in her awkward grace, swept up to the table, giving the cups a final spill, her face went red... His discomfort disappeared, as did his appetite, and his ability to focus on anything else at all. But he felt like a creep for his immediate attraction towards her, and avoided eye contact whenever she came near. He began to feel sick again. A different kind of sick. One that coincides with self-pathos and loathing. He's been back to see her three times since then, under the pretense of hunger, with no results from no action taken. She, at the same time, wonders about the weird repeating customer, and why he hasn't made a move, not that she would go out with someone who would ask a waitress out in the restaurant she works at. Three weeks: "I'm sorry, but I find you very attractive and would like to get to know you a little better... a lot better actually. Would you mind greatly if I asked you out to dinner?" She From He 7: compact girl She was a compact girl, he noticed, after three weeks of intense thoughts about her. He hates compact girls. She From He 8: poor lori She was a picture in a yearbook. He drew her face. he didn't know her, had never met her, and didn't ever recall seeing her at school. He fantasized about her, about how she sounded, what she was like, how she laughed, how her skin felt, how her hair smelled... her hair would always be the same as that one stagnant image. It was meant to be utter disappointment when they actually met, for, initially, he felt he knew her, intimately. But it soon came across that the time he spent with her was all in his head, and that he didn't know who she really was. And he didn't care to find out, for what she really was, he thought, could be no better than what his brain had made her. She had a two year crush, culminating in the muster to finally talk to him. He decimated her heart and hopes by a feint smile, a pleasant hello, a brief pause and "Um, I've got to go." She's been afraid of men ever since. She From He 9: she to me "You are so one sided!" She lashed out. It's true. "Always about you, you, you." As well. "Your men are thinly veiled portraits of yourself." She's nailed me. "And your women. PHAH! Your women are disgustingly flimsy characters of what real women are." Nothing disgusting about them. "All small figments of what your ideal woman would be, perhaps." Perhaps. He closed his eyes and smiled at the interrogation, not just the interrogator. "Well," she said, "don't you have anything to say for yourself?" But she had said it all for him. She From He 10: sleeping It had been a long time since he lay next to anyone. The blankets were too heavy for two people, and the body heat building up under the covers had caused his pores to work overtime overnight. The bedsheet was quite damp he noticed when he moved, and was afraid he had wet the bed, one way or another. (One way he hadn't done since he was five, the other since thirteen.) He was relieved to find it was simply sweat. As he lifted the covers to see exactly how much had amassed overnight, he noticed the dew running down her bare spine. The rush of cool outside air under the covers caused goose pimples to form all over her body, seemingly in slow motion. She let out a shiver and a shake and then they were gone. He stayed in bed, on and under his sweat drenched blankets for hours until she woke, uncomfortable. He dreamed awkward dreams of ice cream and jellyfish, and tv shows starring action figures from his youth. The next night she slept elsewhere, and he needed another blanket. She From He 11: m seeks f He was the type of guy who would put an ad in the classifieds section distinctly requesting a "sugar mama, of any age," and to request financial documentation along with correspondance. She was the type of woman who would answer; a smart, pretty, upscale, no-nonsense, and a victim of her own success when if comes to men. With each other, they both got exactly what they wanted: Satisfaction. Validation. Contentment. If not love exactly, respect and admiration. And some fine sex too. She From He 12: oh And after 8 years of waiting, when it finally happened, when he finally saw her, it was a bit disappointing. She From He 13: dreams She wasn't the girl of his dreams... but he did dream about her. She From He 14: bi He liked her, but he liked her boyfriend too. What a pickle. She From He 15: not bi He liked her, but he liked her boyfriend too. And even though they were great together, he couldn't help but think it was wrong for her not to be with him. She From He 16: maybe three way? He liked her, but he liked her boyfriend too. Thing is, the feeling was mutual on all accounts. It's just... well, these things never work out. She From He 17: feel bad He liked her, but he liked her boyfriend too. And even though he thought she was his soul mate, he let them be together. Not that he had a choice. She From He 18: the other actress He learned a lesson that day, hearing her speak of why she was leaving him: she wasn't his. You can't own a person. They are for the world... their world, not just yours. And as much as he hated to share her with everyone, he was glad they could have her. She From He 19: s/he from he All he caught was a glimpse and he wasn't sure that she... was a she. But he wanted to know. And he would never find out. She From He 20: elizabeth, elizabeth Look at her up there; where she belongs. Higher than the rest of us, above us all. God, she's beautiful, and it's not her looks: it's her look, her style, her pinache, the way she handles herself. And when she's singing she exudes sex, not by way of vocals, but inflection, intonation. She makes me nervous and calm at the same time, her voice lulling but arousing. Sullen and still lusting. And if she were to come to me, I'd think, I'd run away. I think I'd run away, anyway. She From He 21: pyro He has difficulty meeting people, but when he does he fixates quickly; obsesses. Eventually he just starts a fire that gets out of control. Then burns itself out. And he wonders what happened. And he wonders what normal people do. She From He 22: the windows of a bus He could watch her in the reflection of the window. The darkness outside, the brightness inside making the glass almost mirror reflective. He's sure she could see him, watching her, watching him. Their eyes would meet in the seminal reflection, gazes of intense intimacy, yet so distant. He would get off the bus with a fragment of himself left behind. She From He 23: bitter He wasn't interested in her, but he wanted, more than anything, for her to want him. She From He 24: s.o.f.t. Thinking about it, this time, really thinking about it, he still couldn't find jealousy in his heart. It just wasn't there. The other man in her life wasn't enough to care about, or else she wasn't enough to care about. She was angry with him for being so calm, because she tried so hard to get him to show some emotion. Instead, she showed them herself. She From He 25: bad connection She was just like his mother Too much like his sister Not enough like his lover He didn't like to kiss her He tried to push her on his brother But his brother knew better He could no longer love her So without a word he left her Of course he never found another So he began to miss her He became a bother Delirious he couldn't resist her She had enough from this mister Had an order to keep him from her The phone book couldn't list her She moved far away in summer His oedipus was complex And his machinations were a twister This story, what depicts Sometimes herpes can be just a fever blister She From He 26: content His hand resting on her thigh, perfectly. That's what he was looking for... the perfect place to rest his hand. She From He 27: best friend's little sister He wasn't sure what to make of her and he could tell she didn't know what to make of him. They'd known of each other for some time, but they were far from knowing each other. She fingered her hair, her neck arched, her chin poking her chestbone, as he made honest comments about his respect and admiration for her. It was cute, but it made her yound, terribly young. Terribly under age for his standards. But what standards are these, and why did he have them? She From He 28: click He had begun to understand that she didn't like him that way. He finally understood that she didn't like him in any way. He left her alone after that. She From He 29: on the streetcar She was a hooker. He asked if she was working tonight. She yelled, "I don't get on the TTC to meet men, okay!" He was ashamed, as he should be. She From He 30: flared nostrils There's something about a girl with flared nostrils, he thought, staring up at his Pulp Fiction poster, her seductive eyes glaring back at him. That afternoon he ran into a british girl with wide, curled nostrils. He fell right in love then. She From He 31: She & She & She & She & She & She etc. From He Smokes, smokes, smokes, blonde and smokes... but she gets into the groove which is really cool... I think her friend likes me... but she smokes, but she's wearing a poncho! Then there's she, but I really can't see her. And she's cute 'cause she reminds me of someone attractive I sued to know, but she smokes too, and so does the tall one... god, why are there so many smokers? Smokers suck. Then there's all the other girls. The ones down on the floor, pointing me out to eachother... but they look young... And the crazy loner loser chick, akin to my crazy loner loser guy, is staring at me from behind and she tried to swaggle up to me earlier... yeah... this song is about me. She From He 32: paper girl She was everything he wanted, except real. She From He 33: dismal She didn't know him from Adam, he was disparate and strange. But, there wasn't any mystery, at least, not yet. It was an odd reversal of form, her being intrigued by and unintriguing person. She From He 34: friend of a friend He met her briefly, at a bar, at a club, at a lounge and at a cafe. Each time from the first there was no semblance of recognition. She's totally self-involved, the only stories that matter are her own. Her attration to guys centered around getting high, fucking, and no good-bye. She was easily the most dangerous woman he ever met, again, and again, and again. She From He 35: When his friend walked away, he seemed to have walked right through her, both he and she unnoticing eachother. But the apparition notice him, spoke to him, she centered and solidified, and said hi. Five foot nine. It's the only other thing apparent, her height, aside from her smile. She asked to dance and he single stepped to double time, basking in her elation, envying her radioactive grin. "Video Killed the Radio Star" was the proton stream that dematerialized his ghost. She left him, but a dream for the night. She From He 36: noire Her name struck chords familiarly played. She was an old tune in a new key, but is it the same pattern or does she have a rhythm of her own, a flair less technically sound but more joie de vivre? She is someone different. She was complete before him. She From He 37: the pick-up line It was a marketable line, and though oversaturated, it still had many miles to go. He took it for the ride of his life; it never letting him down until the end. It was when she came along, impenetrable, impervious to the most tactile arsinal... The big gun, it turned out, was no longer effective. She From He 38: unavailable Is there anything more sexy than she who understands his love for Mr. T? She From He 39: unpossible It's a very strange relationship, one completely asexual. One almost completely void of any interpersonal interest at all. Why does he write to her? He doesn't know. Why does she reply? He's even more confused. It doesn't mean anything if it goes on or if it doesn't. Maybe that's why he likes it. Nothing's invested. He doesn't have to care, and he doesn't have to care if she cares. They're generations and land masses apart. Nothing should come of it. She From He 40: enid Inside the streetcar he catches her looking at him. It's been a while since he'd last caught anyone looking at him. It's too hard to catch someone, when he's too busy getting caught himself. It's the problem he has when he's single, available to everyone, yet he's waiting for no one except the ones he cannot have. But that is always the way. The ones most attractive to him are the ones he can't attain, or those that won't attain him... or the ones that get away. It's never the ones that, forbeit to be, are attracted to him. The coverse is when he is not available, he seems more attractive... though he couldn't explain why. Maybe it's because his girlfriends dress him better, or maybe it's that lack of desparation. "Isn't it great," she said, the girl sitting beside him. "Isn't it great to see two ugly people happy in love?" "But 'ugly people' is a relative term," he said. "I think it's great when two ugly personalities meet up and get together, because they deserve the mutual hell of their lives together. She From He 41: notepad man She wondered what he'd written, whether it was about her or not. Their eyes met. He smiled. Did she smile back? Was he the kind of guy that would answer an "I Spy"? She wouldn't ask. About either. She From He 42: meat house She: Wow, I didn't recognize you. You look different every time I see you. He: Yeah, heh, that's why they call me the chameleon. He: Actually, they don't call me the chameleon. He: Actually. they don't call me anything. He: Actually, there is no they. She: Oh, how pathetic. She From He 43: nightclubbin', we're nightclubbin' He was on at the bar. The people and the atmosphere were just right for him to loosen up and be himself. He amused and entertained, if only for himself and his friend who accompanied him there. He was at ease, relaxed, coherent, and full of wit. Then she happened. At first she stared, unable to help herself, interested, but she felt weak. She went to the bar for a drink, brushing past him as she did, hoping to get noticed, because she couldn't speak. He noticed her looking at him, staring he could probably say. He tried to continue his anecdotal conversation with his friend, but he found his good humour distracted - waning - as self-consciousness flooded him. He became more upright, more uptight, more aware of how he was standing, what his hands were doing, how his face was pulled in smile or interest. As she brushed past him he tried his best to be coy… to avoid following her with his eyes. She noticed he was avoiding her glances, not meeting her eyes as she stared at his backside from the bar. Looking him over keenly, she had fantasy flashes of him touching her, turning and noticing her, smiling, approaching her, kissing her. She was drowning out the velvet-jacketed eraser-head's banter beside her, but she managed to feign interest too well as he followed her back to the floor, to her friends. Perhaps then he will notice this other guy with her. He noticed the guy dancing with her and her friends, and was curious why he was there. He laughed, before, as the guy was talking with her, she was looking away, at him instead. A slight pang of jealousy warped through his mind and stomach. She really didn't interest him, but still, he was interested…. She was interested, and aside from going up to him and saying so, what else could she do? She'd given every signal she knew to give. But was he receiving them, or ignoring them? Damn her and her signals. He was here for the music and not the women. He could tell without even talking with her that she wasn't his type. Yet, even though he was disinterested, he knew she was watching him, and he couldn't relax. Damn her. Damn him. She concluded that he was an arrogant prick for not approaching her, too high on himself. Damn him. She cleared her head for a moment, and began looking again. She From He 44: once at the movies He used to like her, though now he can't imagine why. Seeing her again was unexpected and unenjoyable. When the movie interrupted, it was a relief. What did he ever see in her, he thought, distracted from the screen. She had always wanted him. And as the credits rolled, he was happy when she left before him. She From He 45: damn neighbour She was his first grade girlfriend. They would kiss when they could, under a desk, he remembers best. The actual duration of the relationship escapes him, but he remembers her leaving him for his neighbour and friend, as they all would in the years to come. (And up until last year, he couldn't blame any of them.) Sixteen years apart, and they recognized eachoter immediately. She hadn't changed, he thought. Sure, she's grown up, she' not a girl but a woman - a fine, fine one at that - but she hasn't changed, he can tell. Their first instinct is to kiss, then do what adults do. And though he hasn't spoken to his neighbourhood friend in ten years, he knows that - given the fact that he doesn't even know where he is - he knows that - despite the fact that he is now a handsome, successful, and rich male model - he knows she would still leave him for him again. Sleeping beside him, she dreams of what his neighbourhood friend would be like now. She From He 46: fuck mates She never really was someone he was interested in, just someone for him to fuck. She thought the same of him. The relationship was decent, civilized, and strictly carnal. No formalities about it. Whenever, wherever, whatever. It was okay on both sides. Not shit, and not spectacular. But it didn't have to be either, nor could it have been. Neither cared enough. The agreement suited them both for a time, and there was no stake involved. So, why did it hurt so bad when she left him? She From He 47: how's your bum She asked if he had a hairy bottom. He replied. But she still wanted to sleep with him. He's been self conscious about it ever since, though. She From He 48: skin He was embarassed by the pastiness of his skin, by how un-coloured he was. The glaring contradiction between fingers as they walked hand in hand. Her skin, that natural, deep hue, olive-like, was smooth, consistant all over her body. She was beautiful when they were naked together. He glowed in the dark, and got under the sheets as quickly as possible. Her hair was thick, black, and flowing. His was light, fine, thin and sparse on his body. There wasn't even any to add some contrast to his skin. She didn't care. But these are the kind of things guys get nervous over. "What does she see in me? I can't even tan without peeling, only to reveal a lighter, brighter layer underneath." She didn't leave him later because of his skin... it was his insecurity. She From He 49: fake woman In the middle of it all, he looked up at her - she said "Don't stop" in a husky, but muted tone - and he noticed how huge her lips were. He wondered how he never noticed before. Bee stung, collagen-injected-looking, like Melanie Griffiths or Angelina Jolie. He wondered if they were real, as her hand slowly crept through the hair on his scalp. There was pressure, forcing his face lower again. Fake? Like her eyelashes? Like the curls coming undone in her hair? Like her not-so-perfectly pencilled eyebrows? He wondered how they felt. He wondered if at some point he could kiss those lips instead. She moaned "don't you dare stop" in a hoarse voice. Her face, so round, looked so sweet, but inside, she wasn't. She From He 50: fallen deeply She had the bluest eyes, but he never noticed until she pointed them out. It was then that he fell into them and couldn't get out. He looked around him and noticed he wasn't alone. It hurt that he wasn't the first, and when the next one joined them, it hurt because he wasn't the last. And they weren't even good company. |