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Great Writing - Home > Short S. > You know what they say about Romance
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| You know what they say about Romance | |
| By alamo | ||||||||||||
| 15 March 2007 | ||||||||||||
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Wrote this today. Let me know what you think. So you’re sitting on the bed watching the film. She’s close, but there’s this distance, a hesitant lack of intimacy, an awkwardness of potential infidelity. But this is only the beginning, and in time, it will grow into feeling right, you’re sure. The next time, you’re on the sofa. A single blanket warms you both in the cold room. The nightmares of Lynch flicker before you. You ache to put an arm round her. It feels like the right thing to do. You try to look at her out the corner of your eyes. If only she was doing the same, but you can’t quite see. She is beautiful. Lit like this, black and white light from the film, she’s pale, ethereal. Red-brown hair, soft, spectral face, lips dark. But she’s not yours. Yet. Now there’s a party. Well, a work party. People flung together by virtue of a contract with the same company. People from different spectrums, countries, different lives. The first one you went to you spoke to two Frenchmen, one who later ended up extradited for benefit fraud, the other, Laurent, who eloquently described duty-free adventures in Andorra, cigarettes and alcohol. This time it’s you, the girl, your friend, and his girl. The Frenchmen are long gone. The little ticket advertised two free drinks, these were bought, the rest fades away. Apparently there was embarrassment, potential sex in inappropriate places, and the threat of violence. You know which ones you can take blame for. In a car, you travel awkwardly home, just about conscious. The next day you’re on the phone. Still drunk, texting. You say (by text): “I’m still drunk. So fuck it. I really like you.” She says nothing. Later: it turns out; she has used this time productively, and has broken up with her boyfriend. Now it is your turn to make a gesture.
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