It has been said that the first sentence is always the
hardest to write. I’d like to voice my approval of that statement, especially
when you’re writing means more to you than anything else on Earth.
Notice that I used that cliché as a first sentence. No,
that’s not cheating.
Anyways, my name is Jacob Clifton, and I have something to
say. In fact, I have a good deal to say. Down here in the South, a cliché
abounds about strong, silent men, and their gabby wives. Fortunately, I’m just
as gabby as any wife, and a good deal more opinionated. So for my opening of my
side of “our” story, you’re going to be reading a lot about me.
That’s right. Me. You see, to truly understand my side of
the story, you’ll have to understand me (or give it a good ol’ college try).
So, for the sake of artistry (and ease of writing), we’re
going to travel back twenty months ago, to a house in Western North Carolina,
and let the memories I have of who I was (and what I felt) take over the
keyboard. Naturally, I don’t remember every exact thought that crossed my mind
at the time, but the feelings and memories I remember, and those moments will
dictate this narrative.
…….
It was the evening of the Seventh of June. And I was bored.
It had been a long day, and although I hadn’t done anything
particularly interesting, I was tired. I just let my mind wander around as I
mindlessly scrolled through various web pages that didn’t interest me (an
activity we’re all familiar with).
My mind wandered to the girl I worked with at a local campground.
She was cute. My sister, as usual, disapproved of my lady-friend. She always
did. Sure, I’d had a dozen or so over the years, but still. I didn’t understand
it. Why, she had even grown to hate..... The only one who had-
No, I wouldn’t go back there. I had passed that point,
right? God has pulled me through it, just me and God. I was alright. Strong,
self-sufficient.
I refreshed the “Exercise and Health Bonanza” topic on the
Collegeplus Forums for the twelfth time in the past two minutes, for no
particular reason. On this forum thread, I had made the grave mistake of mistaking a girl for a guy.
Any decent person would have been horrified, but not I- I thrived off of the
unusual and atypical. I’d mastered the
art of being unique and confident, and it’s amazing how girls fall in love with
cocky guys.
Refresh.
Refresh.
Something caught my eye. No, not a new post, but something I
had expected to occur. A certain young woman named Bethany had changed her
profile picture. You see, she’s the one I had mistaken for a guy. I couldn’t
even make out what her profile picture was of, but all I know is some person
name “Kiaikid” who was passionate about fitness has fooled me into believing
she was a guy.
And now she was a girl. The change of picture made that
obvious.
I did a quick mental analysis of her physical appearance.
Hmm. T-shirt and a skirt- typical of a hippy girl who probably is clueless
about life. She was beautiful, in her own right, and she had changed her
picture for me- that’s obvious. I had already mapped out the expected turn of
events. It would go something like this:
Me: So I see you changed your picture.
Bethany: Yes, I did. You see, I really am a girl! Haha. Or
maybe I still look like a guy in that picture.
Me: No, you strongly represent a very attractive female. You
sure that’s really you?
Bethany: Yes! That’s me… and thank you (: You’re sweet (:
It was like taking candy from a baby. I had mastered the art
of wooing. I was no Crunch Hardtack with thirty-inch biceps, or Johnny Cool
with the flowing hair. My methods were infinitely more signature, and brought me
a good deal of pride. Why, not too long before, every girl in my high school
class (ten) had a crush on me.
So, in the natural course of events, I sent her a Private
Message:
Nice picture ;P
Hmmm. A little bit silly looking. Perhaps the idiotic
emoticon was not-needed. Either way, the conversation had started. It was going
to go as expected.
Refresh.
Refresh.
Ah! She had responded:
Thanks! As you can see, I am female most of the time,
although I distinctly hate female attire, and feel much more at home in
unflattering sweatpants. But, I decided to change it for you, which was
probably a mistake because you’re probably not worth my time. Anyways, how are
you?
Well this is shocking.
That sort of response wasn’t supposed to happen. What was I
supposed to say to that? Did this mean we were going to have to have a normal
conversation?
What followed was a lengthy banter of witticisms, insults,
and pleasantries. Was it fun? Yes. But I emerged with a sour taste in my mouth.
Nothing irks me worse than not getting what I had expected or wanted. One thing
I can say for certain though, this girl had guts. And I definitely wanted to
talk to her again.
I went to bed thoughtful, needless to say.
Hey, people. Back for more fun and truths. Lies. Or both.
