Nameless Girl
It's that tepid emotion that situates itself upon the unbridled layers of
youth- that storm of chaotic opposition, which belies time and interprets the
essence of a soul- that feeling that can only be activated through a catalyst.
I didn't learn her name. Names aren't important- just society imposed marks
that identify the impersonal qualities of a being. I wouldn't learn her name.
She was too important- her description would be from her character, not her
name. Here we are. Let's begin. Beginning is always a wise choice.
That day- oh that fateful day! Her eyes- a sort of blue that bleeds and
sparkles throughout the blackened night- transfixed me in my state of
hopelessness- my state of dreary annoyance at the misrepresentation I allowed
upon me by society's innate desires to interpret based on preconceived
assumptions. Her hair- brown as a form of symbolic imperfection that attributed
to her face, oh her beautiful face- that redefined imperfection as simply,
perfection, poisoned bitterness. The sun rose as my heart fell-until her.
She spoke with an undefined grace- oh on that fateful day!
"Wait there. Don't leave. I would like a closer look at you before you leave."
People do not speak so abruptly. Her tone seemed of annoyance, but her smile-
oh her beautiful smile!
"Do you not speak?"
"No... I think."
"Thinking only goes so far. Too much happens while we think."
"What do you mean?" I was falling in love with her. She was Heavenly.
"I mean. Life is too short to think. In all honesty, thinking is an excuse for
not living. Thinking is just a way to prepare for what to say- or it should
be."
"But, umm." A man riding a horse dashed past us, almost knocking me over in the
effort. He was yelling, "SAVE NARNIA!!!" I think he was drunk. Why would a man
be riding a horse on the beach at twelve o'clock at night?
"Are you okay?" she asked. "That man- what do you think of him?"
"He's crazy." I said bluntly. Her frown of disapproval was so beautiful that I
felt the Heavens open up- I was depressed at the thought of upsetting an Angel.
"My mother left me here. I'm not sure when she will come back. Follow me!"
I did. I followed her through the misshapen rocks along the shore, up a tiny
cliff, up a larger cliff, until the point that we could no longer see the
grains of white sand upon the ground we once stood. Several hundred feet above
the Water, she took my hand and brought me to the edge of the cliff. The moon
was out- a half moon- I hadn't noticed it before.
"Hold my arm." she said as she jumped off of the cliff. "This is beautiful."
She was hanging down from the cliff, overlooking the misshapen rocks. I
strained as I lifted her with all of the force in my body. When I had finally
managed to lift her up, we sat down along the edge- her head on my shoulder.
"Why would you do that?" Her lips were not trembling as mine were. She was
fearless.
"If I had died, would you be sad?" she asked in a surprisingly cheerful voice.
"Well. I wouldn't have saved you if I hadn't thought I'd be sad. I think- but
who knows? It might have been very exciting." She shoved me. "Ah. I'm only
joking." I smiled at her for the first time.
"There it is. You smiled! Now let's go. We have to do something- something
special." I followed her. I would have followed her anywhere.
The moon was falling-ever so slowly. I followed her to a restaurant located
along the outer edge of the beach. "Put your face in your shirt. When we get
in, follow my lead!" Were we going to rob the place? This might be where I draw
the line. I went in.
She walked over to a table where a company of ten people were sitting. She
jumped on the table- followed by myself- and started singing How Much Is That
Doggie in the Window. After we had finished, we curtseyed and sprinted out of
the building.
"You're wonderful" I told her. I meant it.
"Hey... Would you kiss me?" I thought about it, nervously, and kissed her. She
smiled. "Thank you." Off in the distance a sound was calling for a name I could
not distinguish. "I must go now. But, if I don't see you again, make sure you
don't become a clichi." I gave her my number and watched longingly as she
walked away.
Two weeks later, I received a phone call from a woman revealing that her
daughter had recently passed away of leukemia and had wished to deliver a
message to me: "You made one of my last nights very special. I hope you become
like the man on the horse." The note upset me. It seemed rather simple for such
a wonderfully complex girl- but I guess that was the point. She taught me that
to do what is expected is to follow the standard- the clichi- is to not really
live. That beautiful girl that spent some of her last hours teaching me how to
live- that wonderful girl that died- that girl whose name I'll never know, will
be my love for ever.
"I must take a trip to California
And leave my poor sweetheart alone
If he has a dog, he won't be lonesome
And the doggie will have a good home"
It's that tepid emotion that situates itself upon the unbridled layers of
youth- that storm of chaotic opposition, which belies time and interprets the
essence of a soul- that feeling that can only be activated through a catalyst.
I didn't learn her name. Names aren't important- just society imposed marks
that identify the impersonal qualities of a being. I wouldn't learn her name.
She was too important- her description would be from her character, not her
name. Here we are. Let's begin. Beginning is always a wise choice.
That day- oh that fateful day! Her eyes- a sort of blue that bleeds and
sparkles throughout the blackened night- transfixed me in my state of
hopelessness- my state of dreary annoyance at the misrepresentation I allowed
upon me by society's innate desires to interpret based on preconceived
assumptions. Her hair- brown as a form of symbolic imperfection that attributed
to her face, oh her beautiful face- that redefined imperfection as simply,
perfection, poisoned bitterness. The sun rose as my heart fell-until her.
She spoke with an undefined grace- oh on that fateful day!
"Wait there. Don't leave. I would like a closer look at you before you leave."
People do not speak so abruptly. Her tone seemed of annoyance, but her smile-
oh her beautiful smile!
"Do you not speak?"
"No... I think."
"Thinking only goes so far. Too much happens while we think."
"What do you mean?" I was falling in love with her. She was Heavenly.
"I mean. Life is too short to think. In all honesty, thinking is an excuse for
not living. Thinking is just a way to prepare for what to say- or it should
be."
"But, umm." A man riding a horse dashed past us, almost knocking me over in the
effort. He was yelling, "SAVE NARNIA!!!" I think he was drunk. Why would a man
be riding a horse on the beach at twelve o'clock at night?
"Are you okay?" she asked. "That man- what do you think of him?"
"He's crazy." I said bluntly. Her frown of disapproval was so beautiful that I
felt the Heavens open up- I was depressed at the thought of upsetting an Angel.
"My mother left me here. I'm not sure when she will come back. Follow me!"
I did. I followed her through the misshapen rocks along the shore, up a tiny
cliff, up a larger cliff, until the point that we could no longer see the
grains of white sand upon the ground we once stood. Several hundred feet above
the Water, she took my hand and brought me to the edge of the cliff. The moon
was out- a half moon- I hadn't noticed it before.
"Hold my arm." she said as she jumped off of the cliff. "This is beautiful."
She was hanging down from the cliff, overlooking the misshapen rocks. I
strained as I lifted her with all of the force in my body. When I had finally
managed to lift her up, we sat down along the edge- her head on my shoulder.
"Why would you do that?" Her lips were not trembling as mine were. She was
fearless.
"If I had died, would you be sad?" she asked in a surprisingly cheerful voice.
"Well. I wouldn't have saved you if I hadn't thought I'd be sad. I think- but
who knows? It might have been very exciting." She shoved me. "Ah. I'm only
joking." I smiled at her for the first time.
"There it is. You smiled! Now let's go. We have to do something- something
special." I followed her. I would have followed her anywhere.
The moon was falling-ever so slowly. I followed her to a restaurant located
along the outer edge of the beach. "Put your face in your shirt. When we get
in, follow my lead!" Were we going to rob the place? This might be where I draw
the line. I went in.
She walked over to a table where a company of ten people were sitting. She
jumped on the table- followed by myself- and started singing How Much Is That
Doggie in the Window. After we had finished, we curtseyed and sprinted out of
the building.
"You're wonderful" I told her. I meant it.
"Hey... Would you kiss me?" I thought about it, nervously, and kissed her. She
smiled. "Thank you." Off in the distance a sound was calling for a name I could
not distinguish. "I must go now. But, if I don't see you again, make sure you
don't become a clichi." I gave her my number and watched longingly as she
walked away.
Two weeks later, I received a phone call from a woman revealing that her
daughter had recently passed away of leukemia and had wished to deliver a
message to me: "You made one of my last nights very special. I hope you become
like the man on the horse." The note upset me. It seemed rather simple for such
a wonderfully complex girl- but I guess that was the point. She taught me that
to do what is expected is to follow the standard- the clichi- is to not really
live. That beautiful girl that spent some of her last hours teaching me how to
live- that wonderful girl that died- that girl whose name I'll never know, will
be my love for ever.
"I must take a trip to California
And leave my poor sweetheart alone
If he has a dog, he won't be lonesome
And the doggie will have a good home"