Chris Wilkins

A fictional narrative of a non-fictional life.

The Girl with the Cold Feet

Few things remain consistent. Family, the weather, stuff like that. Lives come and pass and for the most part, people keep to themselves; a simple reminder of the fragility of the human spirit. One thing that is consistent, is the obvious selfishness of every living person. Sure, people can go out of their ways for a single, solitary moment to console a friend, help a person move, or even a few bucks to a homeless guy for a meal. Most of the time it is to feed their own selfish motives, in order to make them feel better, more smug for a day or two. Anyone can feed their own ego; it takes an act of god to do anything entirely selfless.
Maybe I’ve lost myself to my own cynicism. Regardless, I have found myself to be incredibly unmotivated to help those who refuse to help others (or themselves). Quite the cycle, even I am sucked into its hypocrisy. These days, I’ve found you can rely on very few things. It’s something I have learned to deal with. I keep to myself, go to work, come home. It’s not the most glamorous life, but it does what it needs to.
People don’t start out this way. It takes a lot of hard work to become intensely enraged at daily situations. Notice my hint of sarcasm, yet understandably accurate statement there. I used to be a romantic. Hard to believe, I know. It all centered around a girl, it always does.
She was beautiful and conniving, intelligent and hateful. A terrible mix. She was many things, but she was everything. My counter. She gave me my perfect moment. Impossible. I’ll set the scene.
A sudden jerk pulls me into consciousness, and I reach for my chest erratically. My phone is vibrating. How long have I been asleep? The clock says 2 a.m. It’s her. “Hello.” I say. My voice is raspy, and I cough loudly, clearing my throat.
“Were you sleeping?” she asked. She already knew the answer. I lied anyway. “No.”
“Can you come over?” Concern was obvious in her voice. I began to ask why, and I suddenly realized it didn’t matter. I was one of those selfish assholes who just wanted to come over. I had been waiting for her to invite me over for weeks. I took the window.
“I’ll be right there.”

I blinked my eyes rapidly and sat up, rubbing my face. I hadn’t shaved in days, no time. I put on a pair of jeans, and smell the closest shirt to me. It’s probably clean. As I grab my keys and run out the door, I’m still struggling to put on my untied shoes. It’s raining. It has been for days. No matter, car is close by.
I race through downtown Seattle, avoiding as any red lights as possible. She lives across town, and the thought of showing up too late is agonizing. I have always been intrigued by rain. It consoles, and allows me to think clearly. I find that I am always lost in my thought, but without direction. It causes me to toss at night. I’ve never been able to get over it, but when it rains, I can focus. On my thoughts anyway, I phase out of the real life though, which can explain why that red light was just run, and why a couple cherries were flashing behind me. Dammit.
I pull over to the side of the ride, cursing the rain. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. Everyone is, get over it.
“What seems to be the trouble officer?” I said, reading the script that everyone follows. “You ran that light back there, I’m going to have to give a ticket.”
“God dammit, are you fucking serious?” I may have overreacted.
“Step out of the vehicle sir.”
As I leaned against the hood of my own, wet, car, I finally understood why I could never survive in prison. Cowboy Troy put on a smile as he patted my nether-regions. I rolled my eyes and took it, which is what I’d like to avoid in prison. Oh god, this train of thought is unnerving. Something else. Damn you rain.
After being violated, I step back into my car, and moments later a ticket appears. Four hundred and twenty-three dollars. Holy hell, I really did just get fucked. “Next time buy me dinner first…” I mumbled to myself as he walked away.
On the road again. I finally make it to her place, making sure to not lose myself in the countless traffic violations that could possibly cost me another adventure. I tear open the door. (The lock is broken), and race up the stairs. Her apartment was only on the second floor, so it didn’t take too long to make it. Stopping myself as I knock, I try to quickly fix my hair and brush all the water from the rain out of my hair. Not gonna happen, just go in.
I knock once. No answer. Twice. “Come in.” she yells. I walked into her bedroom. There she was.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. She was sitting completely upright, her hair as wet as mine. She had obviously just gotten out of the shower. Everything about her had always turned me on. She wasn’t wearing makeup. This was a good thing. She always thought she wasn’t pretty. It was never the case, and we had often had long discussions where she would trick me into arguing with her about it. She loved that I thought she was beautiful. I’m getting off track. The black strands of hair fell perfectly across her face, and in the single glint of lint, her eyes would change from blue to green as single tear drops coalesced down her face.
I had never been in here before. There was only a bed, no other furniture, nothing on the walls. Everything was completely empty. Just a bed.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, i got pulled over, and the rain was coming down, and it just….” I was stammering. “Sorry I took so long”. I was trying to avoid exactly this. I can’t do anything right. “what is wrong?” I asked her.
“Can you just come here please?” She gestured on the spot next to her. I’ve seen this movie. I followed the script.
We sat next to each other, and I stared at the floor while I waited for her to begin. It never happened. We met eyes and the plot progressed. I couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry” I said.
Before she could ask why, I took those perfectly fallen strands of black hair behind her ears, and caressed her hair back with both hands. Then, a kiss. The kiss. I pressed her face into mine, and no resistance was met. She grabbed me back. Bliss.
I gently laid her down and climbed on top of her as we continued to kiss. We rolled softly through her soft, furry brown sheets for what seemed like hours, and just when I thought I could no longer control myself, she simply whispered in my ear. “Let me get that for you.” She grabbed my hands and pulled me into a sitting position. She slowly pulled my shirt over my head, kissing my chest as she lifted.
“Wait, wait wait….” I said.
“Whats the problem?”
“Slow down, I ..I want this to go right” I was never very good with words. I knew I was going to screw this up. I looked into her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and frustration. Instead I saw something much different. She smiled. I melted.
“Thank you.” She said, still smiling.
She laid with me all night, my arms completely surrounding her. Her feet were chilly to the touch, but I pressed myself firmly into her back and legs anyway. I wanted it all, every feeling, every bit of touch that she would have from me. I had never been more content. We talked about everything, and nothing. Occasionally, she would shudder slightly as I kissed the back of her neck. A simple gesture of my unwavering affection.
As we the sun started to come up, I smiled to myself as we silently drifted off to sleep. I would always remember this day as the day that in a room surrounded with emptiness, I had fallen in love with the girl with cold feet.

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