L: Find a GirLfriend

Ramona Part 2

Dedicated to Virginia (who knows who she is, in fact, she requested her name be removed), thanks for making me watch DeathNote. I LOVE IT.

She gave me a hug, and I wrapped my arms around her waist, which was surprisingly small. It was her center, everything expanded from that one point. Her thighs; her breasts and shoulders all came from a perfect indentation. It was so different from me, a vertical drop. An imperfect plane. If I stood up straighter, I would be obviously taller than her. I was just her size, nearly equal, at the stance I was in.

I thought these things in a bizarre feeling of connection with her. Her name reverbed in my head and her voice pierced the thick noise. I hadn't noticed that I had gone silent until she was calling my name.

"L? Hey, hey!"

I looked her in the eyes, and they widened. Not alarmed, but surprised. My hands slipped up to her wrists and I held them up. My hands were quivering and shivering with every moment, and with a burning face, I continued.

"What- What are you-"

"Shh."

I pressed her wrists gently to her shoulders and led her backwards towards the wall. Her eyes floated closed, and she whispered something.

"What?"

Her knee launched straight to MY center, and before I really knew what I was doing, I was on the floor, her standing over me with a barstool over her head. She was just about to send it swooping into my ribcage.

"NOO!"

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!"

"I-"

"Oh god, I'm sorry."

She dropped the barstool and put her arms out to help me up.

"You just can't scare me like that, that's how girls get groped and other uncomfortable things by bar creeps-"

I took her arm again, but slammed her down with me. The shaking had dispersed. Wrong move. The look on her face said it all.

Everything was fixed by the time I left, however. Ramona doesn't let things "sit there and rot".

We decided that I have to pay for my coffee, but she still gets to call me schizophrenic. It was a worthy trade. She had hit her hip on the way down, it would surely leave a bruise. She lay there cursing beside me before rising, and that's when I apologized and we made our deal.

It had been a buried and long ignored feeling, but I felt socially inadequate again as soon as I left her door.

To say the least.

It would happen a lot more frequently when I was at Wammy's house. Watching everyone act and react and interact like I should have been was mildly disconcerting at it's very best. Even better to [headcanon ahead] know Roger was staring at me, waiting for me to do something. I could never figure out whether it was to break or "cut the act out". I rephrase that, I'm sure I could have figured out, but I thought it best I didn't know.

The feelings stayed leagues below the surface. Perhaps they were more forced down than the analogy would lead to believe, that would explain occasional upsets. They were still nearly undetectable, monsters waiting under the bed.

As I walked down the hall, I heard the door ease open. I was sure it was Ramona, but looked back to check anyway. Her bangs were sideways and she was staring a hole right through me. I gave a small wave, and found myself smiling.

She smiled, too, and waved back before closing the door.

How can a girl's dainty wave, nail polish chipping on her fingernails, take so much weight off of me? I never knew.