Something, A Story of a Girl, No One in Particular (1999)

Something. A story of a girl, no one in particular, maybe several people, or maybe just my idea of a girl.

She started talking about something, but I can't remember what it was. I'm sure it wasn't important, though, but I should've listened more intently. I was thinking about something else, maybe what I did the night before, maybe what I ate for breakfast, maybe regretting something from years ago. It didn't matter, I watched her lips move, not paying attention to the shapes they made. We should've gone for coffee, that would've made it more cliche. She lives a cliche, I only try to.

I started listening when she mentioned something about money. I guess it takes a lot to get my attention. When I realized it wasn't leading to anything interesting, just her usual bills, I continued my choreographed sporadic stream of "uh-huh"'s and head nods. I returned to thinking about vanilla or something like that, maybe something I had seen some years ago.

We got up and went somewhere, I'm sure it wasn't important, maybe a bar, maybe her apartment, maybe mine. It was usual, so I can't remember exactly. I watched her walking. She walked funny, I can't help but notice, the awkward way she moved her legs like she was trying to imitate whomever was in front of her, or maybe someone from a TV show sometime. Even when she walked up steps, she did it. I can't explain it, but I watched her. I like to watch people, especially her. People act so predictably most of the time, like they were in a movie or something. Maybe a play, completely un-surreal. I like to guess what she'll do next, it's tougher with an individual.

She isn't explicit, but it's obvious she's tired of me for the moment. I've again exhausted my usefulness as a word sponge, my head nods and "uh-huh"'s have served their noble purpose. I watch her walk into her apartment building, and then I begin my walk home, thinking about her. Not really "her", but maybe a more generic "her". This particular she was what I thought I wanted, something in the way she lives. I don't have to hear and remember every word she says to know what she's talking about, she's always talking about something, and I usually can't remember. She had nice shoes. I always notice that about a person, their shoes. I walk with my head down because I'm lazy, probably, and so I don't trip over anything. I like to look at shoes, they really do describe a person. I'm afraid to characterize solely on the basis of footwear, but I can't help it (everyone seems to have a point from which they generalize). I see something about the person in their shoes. Her shoes are great. That didn't surprise me, I'd heard about her before I met her and imagined she'd have those kind of shoes. Or something similar. I was right.

And then I get home, and I'm still thinking about her shoes, or maybe the way her hair and eyes seemed so perfect together. I wasn't thinking about what she said this time, I'm past that. I'd like to think I'm beyond dwelling on every word about something that went wrong today. I listen to her when she's serious, I do, but I can't help but lose a little interest when I hear the same kind of thing again. She said something before about me, discussed me myself, but that was a week or two ago. Since then I haven't been thinking about her that much, just when I can't think of anything else. It's something to do. I have to have something to do. I think about calling her, but that would be terribly awkward. I can't help but be terribly awkward, anyway. She doesn't think so, though, I don't know why. Something seemed to make it easier to talk to her, and as much as I wish I knew what it was, I can't even come close to figuring out what it is. I look out the window over the bright city lights, trying my best to live my cliche. Success, I think. She talked to me so long tonight, and the way she looked at me. It meant something to me, and so does she, but haven't I felt that way before? Somehow I figure it out. I'll think of something.