Roxy

this is a short story i wrote a long time ago and then found randomly and decided to do work on, this has a lot in common with many of the short stories i write, including the first person perspectives, metaphors and adoration for the female species, this is probably a lot like my in the works novel (dating her) will sound like. this is my oldest and shortest story, enjoy



Orig. 2/20/07
Edit. 11/10/08
By Adam Smith
Roxy

It was like one of those connections you could feel in the room before you knew what was happening. One of those things that was just like electric. When my own image arose out of the clutter of the crowd I could only guess I looked not to the best of my capabilities yet slightly heroic, with a beer. She had already started her way across the room and we made eye contact before you could say, “Eye fuck”. From across the room I saw her eyes, and I saw their depth. Her eyes were blue with glaciers of white ice, swirling slowly. Her hair was a slightly darker brown, but with an auburn tint from the light. This girl was beautiful.
She was just wearing jeans: tight fitting, suggestively themed jeans, and ballet flats. She looked normal, almost. Her hair was up, off her shoulders, carelessly thrown into a bun, she might not have known it at the time, but that was my weakness.
I was already lost in her. I was just staring, and I know my mouth wasn’t fully shut. I took a long hard blink, and then opened my eyes to make sure she was real. As she casually made her way across the room I got to see multiple angles. The angles of this woman, of this girl, were unspeakable. She had a basic hourglass shape but understated. She was tall, but not Brazilian model tall. She could model. Easy. Maybe she was a model. She had long legs. This did me in. Her legs went on for miles that I could never run. I could not see the flesh beneath the jeans, but my thoughts raced. I was taller than this girl, this fact made everything okay. I still had one thing on my side. At this point, I had at least one thing on my side and this was my height. When she went sideways her frame collapsed and I got to see a back view. I did not stare at inappropriate locations. Most of what I noticed was her upper back. Her hair was up so I noticed her exposed neck and shoulder blades. Her skin was a perfect healthy shade and she was not overly tan. Her skin was blown glass. She was dark and sexy but with a light heart.
A thin, but not sickly thin, brunette, hair in a bun, tank top with what I could only guess was a Forever 21 bar hopping top, jeans, ballet flats. Simple. Sexy. Complex. Charismatic. I found myself analyzing the situation before there was a situation to analyze. I had sat trying to sway my dizziness. “What song was playing?” I remember asking myself, thinking maybe that was a sign, as long as it wasn’t something like “Drip Sweat” or “Pull My Hair” I would be fine, just fine. It was a fun tune. This DJ has good taste. Now I sat up, looking up, taking in the sound with every ounce of thought as the girl still walked, forever walking. I know this DJ, because this is my iPod plugged into the speakers. “Girls and Boys” by Blur. Okay, awesome, fun, and although in the category of alternative indie rock (my specific department), still sexy and seductive, this song is about an orgy.
“Ok, Chill”, I told myself, “What’s the worst that can happen, she is actually looking at you? She is actually walking towards you?” I would grab her a beer from the counter. Maybe she doesn’t drink beer. She seems like a hard liquor woman. “You talk to attractive girls all the time why are you freaking out now?” I was lecturing myself into obedience.
By this time the girl had already stopped, visited with other girlfriends and continued onward with her journey. She was closer now than ever. Her hair sparkled in the dim switching light. She looked down at the floor occasionally, swept her bangs out of her face and behind her ear. She was walking slowly, but not walking to get somewhere. This girl was just walking. She knew everyone, of course she did. Why didn’t I know her? Maybe I did. No. I didn’t.
She stopped again. She hugged some guy. I hated that fucking guy. I didn’t know that guy, but obviously he was a prick. She took a drink, a glass. The glass could have had water in it. It was probably water; she was walking straight as an arrow before. She stayed in this spot with a small gaggle of people for a couple minutes, just as she had been with the original gaggle of people she was with when the two of us partook in visionary intercourse. Why was I not with a gaggle? Where was my gaggle? I had no gaggle. This was not good. I looked pathetic. This was because I was pathetic, at least semi-pathetic. She was talking, elegantly, but funny. I could tell. Her mouth, I had not noticed. She had slight lipstick, no, maybe Chap Stick. Her lips were perfect. I wanted to kiss her on the mouth. She would grab my hair, but not like a crazy porno, just like she cared.
I was trying not to stare at her but I was failing miserably. She leaned against a pillar. She was above everything going on. She was all that mattered. She rocked her head back and laid her sweet, soft hair against the pillar, or post, or whatever you call a building support. This was a support covered in finished plywood, not a dirty cinderblock one that could be found in basements. This girl was clean. She was looking up at the pitch-black ceiling. She closed her eyes.
She took a deep breath.
Time stopped. There was nothing else in this room. Both this huge room and the larger room it opened into were empty. No one moved. The music stopped. My thoughts were like mail trucks racing through my mind and I was the helpless dog trying to catch them.
She exhaled.
Everything fell back into place like someone turned on the gravity in a space ship. Time had now resumed, because she decided it could. She looked in my direction. I was gasping for air. We made eye contact. Again. Using the term “we” as referring to this girl and myself was too much for me to handle. I looked down towards the ground. I fumbled in my pocket past my phone. I put a mint in my mouth. “Fuck, that was dumb,” I thought. I crunched the mint. “Good.” Now no obstructions of teeth but okay breathe. Maybe. I looked up and this girl was moving in my direction, but not looking at me. My button down shirt held me tightly. French Kicks were playing. This meant something. One of my all time favorite bands, this situation just got a lot better. The song was “Sex Tourists”. Wait, what was with all this sexually themed music? It was a party. This was my play list. I was sexually attracted to this girl, more than a little bit. The drums calmed me. The guitar chimed in my ear and told me this was more than okay. I hoped this song had no underlying meanings of unhappiness. I was happy, mainly that this girl was so close.
Okay, perfect song. I came back. I stared, entranced. This could be the beginning of a beautiful girl involved in my life, or the end of one of the greatest chances to charm my life. Why was I talking to myself, and why in ultimatums? She was so close I could feel our electric buzz snapping and popping, no crackles though. I stood up straight, I smiled.
“Hi,” came a soft and soothing voice, almost seductive, but this could have been only to my ears. “I’m Roxanne.”