Monday, September 26, 2011

Who's That Girl...

When she wanted something and knew it would be hard to get, she stomped her foot. It was mostly involuntary and beyond her control, and had been her way since she’d been two. Everyone thought it was cute back then, but they were more than a little afraid of her now. 

Shop girls shuddered when she walked in the door. Baristas and bartenders, too. It wasn’t that she was a brat; she simply despised incompetence, low-confidence, long lines, and poorly made drinks. And it wasn’t entirely her fault; her father had always told her – morning, noon, and night – that she was the best, and that she should expect the best. 

So she’d grown up dead-sure that the best was always waiting around every corner. And it was. She had the best job, the best friends, the best loft, the best ideas, and the best shoes with which to stomp. She had the best boyfriends, too. And when they were no longer the best, they were also no longer her boyfriends. It was a wonderful life.

You know how this story goes, don’t you? She meets a man. The best man. A man to replace the man she’d had before him, and one who would probably be the best until he wasn’t any longer. A man who was utterly wonderful and perfect in every way except one: he doesn’t want her.

This had never happened to her before. Never. He ignored all her hints, didn’t answer her calls, and appeared confused when her friends asked him what he thought of her.

“I don’t.” he answered simply and with a shrug.

And so the story goes for weeks and weeks and months and months until she couldn’t take it anymore. Against her better judgment, she dressed in her killer best and showed up at his house. Took a long, deep breath and rang his bell. 

After her second attempt, she heard a window slide open two floors up. She stepped back into the street and stared at him, at his beautiful face and gorgeous black-as-night eyes and lashes she could count from two stories down. He smiled lazily, and called to her, “Hey, Karen...”

“Carinna,” she corrected, her heart sinking for the first time in her life. It made her feel like she was drowning and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

She asked if he’d like to go for coffee. He said he didn’t think he would. She asked if he wanted to have dinner sometime. He didn’t. A movie? Nope.

“Listen,” she said. “I've never done this before...I've never had to, actually. But I think we’d be great together. And I can’t understand why you won’t give me a chance.”

He just stared at her and kept his smile in place. “Tell me what you want from me,” he said.

“Well…” she didn’t know what to say. “Just…a date. Just…hanging out.”

I mean, what else could she tell him? That she thought of no one and nothing else but him? How it crushed her that he didn’t remember her name? How it killed her that he didn’t love her already? That she thought- no, hoped and dreamed - that he was the one?

“Ahhh,” his smile finally disappearing. “And here I thought you’d finally grown up. These things you want from me…dinner, a date…hanging out? You can get that from anyone. I wanted more from you. And I’ve been waiting for you to realize that you do, too.”

And with that, he disappeared back inside and closed the window.

He’s coming downstairs, she thought to herself, smiling. Well. That had worked out perfectly. For the best. As usual. She’d gotten what she’d wanted one more time.

Five minutes later, he still wasn’t downstairs. When seven minutes passed, she finally understood that things hadn’t worked out perfectly and for the best. And so, exactly nine minutes later, she did the only thing she knew to do.

Stomped her expensive shoe on that street, marched right up to his door again, and buzzed until he let her in.

The rest of the story is history. But I will tell you this much; they now have twin girls who inherited his black-as-night eyes and lush lashes, as well as her penchant for foot-stomping when they want what they want.

And, as their father tells them morning, noon, and night, they deserve the world.