The Apple of My Eye

In Bloom

As was rapidly becoming standard with everything that had to do with Star and me, every time there was some kind of approximation, however little it was, there was a little bit of estrangement the next day. Two steps forward but one step back, invariably—which for me was absolutely unusual in 2008, even if it had been the norm for most of my life. In 2008, I was rocking and I knew it.

Then again, when it came to Star, everything was unusual. I guess we were both afraid one of us would have regretted the decisions that had led to the approximation in the first place and would have consequently changed our minds, in which case we would both need to slow down a little—or come to a complete halt—and wait to see how things were going to turn out. The way I saw it, the ball was never in my court, and she felt conversely the same way. This was no game, mind you. This was just the way of things. I had declared to myself that, if Star ever changed her mind about all the stuff that was happening between us, that is, if she simply decided to call it quits and act like nothing had ever happened, I would just as well be perfectly able to let it go. I didn't want to be pushing it or to seem all obsessed with it only to be let down and fall flat on my face.

To tell the truth, I didn't think there was going to be much more to see here anyway. Overall, there had already been so much more than I expected that I didn't want to get too greedy. We had kissed—somewhat—and, by all accounts, that was quite an achievement for me as far as a girl like Star was concerned, given her personality, her story, and everything else that went with it. I wanted more, I sure did, but in my mind I was ready to not have any more if it went down like that.

To my relief, though, that was not how it went down this time. At all. After a few hours of silence and absolutely no form of communication in the workplace—during which both of us were perfectly cognizant of each other's whereabouts and Skype status—we eventually got to talking again. We were reluctant to discuss the events that had led to our first kiss, yes, but neither of us seemed to be backing down in terms of excitement or interest. Good. Although we never touched the subject of the kiss that day, we made plans to walk to the subway station together again that night. This time, we needed no excuse. No issue needed discussing or settling. We would do it because we simply felt like it, and neither of us had any difficulty admitting that.

That night, from the moment we got together, the two of us started talking like old friends. Our conversation flowed much more naturally, at last. No more uncomfortable silences. No more thoughts of "should I even be saying these things?" I was finally coming to terms with my anxiety around Star, and she was apparently coming to terms with hers. We talked for almost an hour at the bus stop near the station. And we embraced and kissed a number of times, too. And it felt wonderful. Out of this world, I tell you. I hadn't felt that way around a woman in a long time. I dare say maybe I had never felt that way around a woman, period.

We were staring at each other and smiling, in raptures, knowing that we were embarking upon an adventure that was both unique and somewhat uncertain, but one that was guaranteed to fill us with delight every time we were together.

As lost in the moment as we were, our mutual affection did not go unnoticed by the curious eyes of the spinsters from our workplace. That night, as we conversed and cuddled without a care in the world, we were spotted not by one, but by two of the worst gossips to ever walk the Earth. They were across the street from us, and they had the nerve to stop to get a better look. I understand how unbelievable it must have looked to them: the most righteous, virtuous girl ever to set foot in our branch, with a history of having to be transferred from where she and her boyfriend worked because of her bouts of possessiveness, now making out with the world's dirtiest villain, its wickedest assailant—that's me, in case you were wondering, and that's how I imagine they would have described me, not how I saw myself. I won't lie, though. It gave me immense satisfaction to see the two gnawing the wings of their imaginary chicken of a story, the story the whole workplace was sure to be aware of the next day. The scumbag in me kept repeating in my head, "Yes, sir, you did it again. No damsel, in distress or otherwise, is immune to your charms, Mister, and now the whole world shall know." That sort of drivel.