Let Me Tell You A Story … About a girl

Sometimes I make up scenarios in my mind of things that may have happened. Or not. In this case, parts of the following didn’t happen. But a lot of it did.

I had a headache in reality last night.

I imagined I was with him in bed with this headache. We had no painkillers and so we had to improvise.

“Give me 20 minutes. I’ll will the headache away,” I said to him as he looked at me somewhat concerned.

He moved closer to me as he rested his body on his elbows. “What if I whisper sweet nothings to you. Maybe that will distract you.”

“Ooooooo sweet nothings. My favorite,” I looked at him, smiled and then closed my eyes waiting to hear his smooth voice attempting to soothe me.

“Let me tell you a story of a girl.”

“Okay,” I said getting comfortable. “Is she cute?”

“Can I tell the story please? You cannot speak or ask questions till the end.”

“Bossy sweet nothings. I love it.”

“I went out for a smoke and pulled out my phone. My finger just touched the Tinder icon. I saw the image of a woman, smiling at me, hair blowing in the wind. Without looking at the rest of the photos I swiped right. What do you know – we matched.

I took a long drag of my cigarette and wrote, “Hey wanna work on those dreams tonight?”

“Tonight,” she said.

“Yes tonight. Dreams are fleeting.”

And so began a banter that was fun and comfortable right from the start. We never got to meet but talked and texted a lot,” he said in a voice that was surely helping with the headache.

“So this is a true story,” I couldn’t control myself from saying.

“It is a story and you will listen.”

“Yes sir. I am listening. Describe her. I wanna picture her.”

“No. Just listen.”

“Okay. Listening.” I pouted internally because he hated when I pouted.

“I was at the airport and we were talking on the phone. As my luck would have it my plane broke down and I could see them fixing the plane as we spoke on the phone. We talked about all the things one does when one is first getting to know each other. Our past, our relationships, our families. We talked about things that make us happy. Things that piss us off. It was a good conversation. After a couple of hours of this, I told her that I should go investigate what was happening with the plane and when we will take off.  We said good night and I went off to find a person who seemed to know what was going on.”

He looked at me to see if I was listening and if my headache was easing.

I looked at him, said nothing. I was still listening.

“When I finally got on the flight, it was her morning and there was wifi on the plane. I texted her and told her I was watching a movie and enjoying a drink. She knew I must be exhausted and cranky. ‘Enjoy your drink and try to relax,‘ she said. I did just that. When I got back home, we started a couple of weeks of lots of conversations via texting and face time, etc. It seemed natural. I knew when she woke up, when she was going to work and when she got back. In turn, she knew when I woke up, when I was calling for my coffee, what I had for lunch, etc. You get the picture.”

“Am I allowed to say yes. I still want to know what she looks like,” I giggled.

“It’s unimportant. Can I go on?”

“Yes please.”

“One morning I woke up early. With my eyes still shut, I ran my hand across the empty space on my bed. There was a dull ache in  my heart. I ached for her. I wished she was laying beside me.”

“The way I am laying here beside you?”

“Sigh. Listen.”

“Listening,” I smiled. He was so cute.

“I decided I didn’t want to feel that ache anymore and so I withdrew.”

“From her?” I sat up. “That’s fucked up! Did you tell her?”

“No. She would figure it out eventually and she did.”

“That’s such bastardly behavior. Why couldn’t you tell her how you were feeling?”

“There was no point. Besides, I don’t do that.”

“You know all men are assholes even if they are nice guys like you.”

“How’s the headache?”

“It’s gone but now I am sad and angry.”

“Why are you sad or angry? It’s my story.”

“Because that girl was me.”

Until I date again!



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