Dusky

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I don't know how to be that girl, or I guess this girl because that is who I currently am at the moment.

I tap the eraser of my number 2 pencil against my chin as my Shakespeare professor drones on and think about Noah, how he's been avoiding me or how I've been avoiding him for a week. He called, and I didn't answer because...well because I'm stupid and don't know how to separate my emotions from my rationale.

I'm kinda a ditz when it comes to guys, but what girl isn't? They do things to us, terribly beautiful things that we are sure we will never feel again, so we cling to them in hopes that they will stay.

Dr. Marty ends his lecture with a smile.

They hardly ever stay.

The small sea of students gather their belongings, chatter about nonsensical things like Blue Ivy and Kim Kardashian, and I wish that I were one of them. That I was different. That I was this social butterfly because I would so love to be that beautiful butterfly. The more I think of that butterfly I realize that I'm not avoiding Noah because I'm angry at him, I'm avoiding him because I'm embarrassed of the innocence I gave to him like a stale piece of candy as if I didn't want it anymore.

I shoulder past several students out the small door and fall into the atrium of even more students, they move as if they are blood and oxygen, through ventricles, from here to there, all in the order they are supposed to be. They have purpose but I walk aimlessly among them. I rub the end of my cardigan sleeve against my nose out of habit and ponder everything.

It's not love.

I'm intrigued by him, by his peculiarity,by his ease among people like me. I knew a white guy a long time ago who loved to hang out with black people, but he was pathetic--after he broke my heart and I fell out of love with him.

Before I know it, i'm outside where the sun sits high.  I hold my hand up to ward the glare of the sun away from my glasses, and I see him enveloped in the golden light like Helios.

Our eyes connect for the fifth time this week and as usual he lifts his large hand in the air while he clutches the handle of his satchel bag with the other. His colorful duo of guy friends look away from their conversation to see who he's waving at. They look me over and I know that they think i'm nothing special, in fact I know they think i'm nothing special because I heard the light-skinned one named Brandon tell him "All of these beautiful black, latino, asian, hispanic women and you go for the plain oil spill with glasses bigger than her eyes. Do we need to show you how to pull girls over here Noah's Ark?"

With that in mind, I press my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and walk to the west of his  north because I understand that this isn't the way things are done. There's an order that I can upset, a balance.

Noah isn't in my orbit.

And I'll be ok with that one day.

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Oct 06, 2014 ⏰

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