embraced it as my only hope of having her close to me.
Before
I tell you more, you have to know that I am not that person anymore. An
introvert. I have had plenty of women, and I am not lying. And for you to
realize how many chicks I score these days, you should know what I do for a
living; I own a few nightclubs and a modeling agency. So, my friend, do not
worry about me, because life’s good.
Anyway,
let’s get back to our story. After high school was over, I left the country. I
struggled for a while before making it big, but it was worth it.
I
never managed to forget her, if this is what you’d like to ask me. No, she was
there, sometimes in my dreams, sometimes in the moments I thought about my days
as a teenage boy. Every brunette I met or saw (because you need to know this:
brunettes are the only women a man should love. Yes, I know this is a matter of
taste, but… still… you should love brunettes,) reminded me of her.
And
to be brutally honest about myself, I never even tried to forget her. I never
even tried to fall in love with someone else. I know, love is never a matter of
choice, but you can let go. You can forget, at least enough of it so you can
love someone else.
Six
years later, when I met her again, I had already grown sick and tired of always
being disappointed by every brunette I saw on the street so, at first, I didn’t
recognize her.
I
was in Rome at the time.
If
I were to ask you to imagine the most beautiful place on Earth, odds are that
you’d think about a landscape, a mountain or a beach or something, but Rome is
as wonderful as anything nature managed to create. It’s a mesmerizing history
book that never ceases to amaze me, no matter how many times I visit.
And
there, on a narrow sidewalk, filled with tourists taking photographs with
indescribable fury, I saw her. I saw her eyes, blue and wild, a tender light
glittering inside them, and I felt as if her beauty answered to all of life’s
questions. You know, like who created the Universe and all that.
When
our eyes met it was as if, and there’s no way of avoiding a cliché here, my whole
being was struck by an earthquake that sent ripples across everything that I
was or had been. It was then that I realized she was the girl who used to make
out with all the popular boys in school while I was busy helping her with her
homework.
A
man put his hand on her waist and kissed her on the cheek. He had an enormous
camera tied around his neck, and a smile that said, quite clearly, that he
thought being in Rome to be a miracle or something. He wore a cheap t-shirt,
like those souvenir t-shirts they sell for less than ten bucks in bazaars and
such. He was a pathetic creature.
I
began to walk toward them, with the confidence of being worth several million
dollars and the general idea that I was no longer an introvert. But as soon as
I stood a mere foot away from her, I found it difficult to look her in the eyes
and swallowing never felt to be such a strange thing to do. It felt as if it
required a conscious effort on my part to breathe or for my heart to beat.
“Hi,”
I said, and my voice was weak, just as it used to be in high school. Meeting
her again had reduced me to being a freaking moron again.
She
smiled. “Hi,” she said. The guy next to her furrowed his eyebrows and grinned
in a semi-menacing way.
“Do
you remember me?” I tried to put on the most decent smile I was capable of.
“Of
course.” She hugged me.
That
was when I realized who the guy was. One of my classmates, only he was taller
and better built.
“Ah!”
he said. We shook hands and smiled at each other, maybe even nodded our heads
in one of those quiet and embarrassing moments.
“So,”
she said and brought her hands together in a quasi-pious posture, “what have
you been up to?”
“Not
much.”
After
all the years that had passed that was the only thing I said. And it was the
closest to the truth as possible. Without her, I hadn’t managed to do
Before
I tell you more, you have to know that I am not that person anymore. An
introvert. I have had plenty of women, and I am not lying. And for you to
realize how many chicks I score these days, you should know what I do for a
living; I own a few nightclubs and a modeling agency. So, my friend, do not
worry about me, because life’s good.
Anyway,
let’s get back to our story. After high school was over, I left the country. I
struggled for a while before making it big, but it was worth it.
I
never managed to forget her, if this is what you’d like to ask me. No, she was
there, sometimes in my dreams, sometimes in the moments I thought about my days
as a teenage boy. Every brunette I met or saw (because you need to know this:
brunettes are the only women a man should love. Yes, I know this is a matter of
taste, but… still… you should love brunettes,) reminded me of her.
And
to be brutally honest about myself, I never even tried to forget her. I never
even tried to fall in love with someone else. I know, love is never a matter of
choice, but you can let go. You can forget, at least enough of it so you can
love someone else.
Six
years later, when I met her again, I had already grown sick and tired of always
being disappointed by every brunette I saw on the street so, at first, I didn’t
recognize her.
I
was in Rome at the time.
If
I were to ask you to imagine the most beautiful place on Earth, odds are that
you’d think about a landscape, a mountain or a beach or something, but Rome is
as wonderful as anything nature managed to create. It’s a mesmerizing history
book that never ceases to amaze me, no matter how many times I visit.
And
there, on a narrow sidewalk, filled with tourists taking photographs with
indescribable fury, I saw her. I saw her eyes, blue and wild, a tender light
glittering inside them, and I felt as if her beauty answered to all of life’s
questions. You know, like who created the Universe and all that.
When
our eyes met it was as if, and there’s no way of avoiding a cliché here, my whole
being was struck by an earthquake that sent ripples across everything that I
was or had been. It was then that I realized she was the girl who used to make
out with all the popular boys in school while I was busy helping her with her
homework.
A
man put his hand on her waist and kissed her on the cheek. He had an enormous
camera tied around his neck, and a smile that said, quite clearly, that he
thought being in Rome to be a miracle or something. He wore a cheap t-shirt,
like those souvenir t-shirts they sell for less than ten bucks in bazaars and
such. He was a pathetic creature.
I
began to walk toward them, with the confidence of being worth several million
dollars and the general idea that I was no longer an introvert. But as soon as
I stood a mere foot away from her, I found it difficult to look her in the eyes
and swallowing never felt to be such a strange thing to do. It felt as if it
required a conscious effort on my part to breathe or for my heart to beat.
“Hi,”
I said, and my voice was weak, just as it used to be in high school. Meeting
her again had reduced me to being a freaking moron again.
She
smiled. “Hi,” she said. The guy next to her furrowed his eyebrows and grinned
in a semi-menacing way.
“Do
you remember me?” I tried to put on the most decent smile I was capable of.
“Of
course.” She hugged me.
That
was when I realized who the guy was. One of my classmates, only he was taller
and better built.
“Ah!”
he said. We shook hands and smiled at each other, maybe even nodded our heads
in one of those quiet and embarrassing moments.
“So,”
she said and brought her hands together in a quasi-pious posture, “what have
you been up to?”
“Not
much.”
After
all the years that had passed that was the only thing I said. And it was the
closest to the truth as possible. Without her, I hadn’t managed to do
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