If We're Not Soulmates, Then I Don't Believe In Love

My Greaser

October 7, 1956

The air was ripe with romance, and as the leaves fell the scent of cigarettes was like gasoline that sparked the flame of love in my chest...

"Whatcha writing Mila?" Shawn appears and sits down on the pile of leaves next to me.

I shut my leather journal quickly. "English essay, nothing important."

"But we don't have an English essay." Shawn's look of pure confusion reminded me of what hat attracted me to him in the beginning; his innocence and purity. Everything I now yearned to separate myself from. He shakes his head. "Well, whatever. Want to go to the drive-in later?"

Nodding quickly, I take a chance and kiss his cheek. "Love to Shawny. See you later babe." I shove my journal into my book bag and skip away, down the street to my house. I have to push down on my pleated skirt to keep it from rising up, and this action causes wrinkles to appear in my blouse.

"Hey good lookin'." A raspy voice freezes me in my tracks. A rumbling motorcycle stops in front of me. Hanging from the two red lips I desired most was a cigarette, and the smoke made the emerald eyes appear hazy in the fading afternoon light, which shone against the crisp leather jacket.

I could write poetry about how she made me feel with that one look all night. Clearing my now-dry throat I manage to reply with a timid, "Hi." This is the first time she's ever spoken to me.

She smirks. "Gotta question for you."

I nod, inwardly begging her to stop the spell she's put me under and outwardly telling her to ask me whatever she wants, she can have everything I've got to give.

"How you get them folds in your skirt? Gotta iron them every day or does your mommy help with that?"

Giggling, I think that's it's pretty funny she doesn't know how skirts get pleats. "Oh it's much simpler than that. See the waistband here? The way they sew it together makes it pleat on its own."

Even when I hear her laughter and the laughter of several other greasers, it takes me turning around and seeing the mocking looks on their faces to realize she was making fun of me. 

My eyes prick with tears, but I swallow the urge to let them out and turn on my heel, determined to ignore them. I make a last glance towards the girl in front of me, seeing her smirk disappear and a flash of discomfort in her eyes. Maybe she didn't want to hurt me after all.

Soon enough, the motorcycles roar to life and the greasers disappear quicker than they had appeared. I continue my walk, mood severely dampened and I considered telling Shawn I didn't want to go when he came to pick me up. Instead, I let him open the door of his red Buick for me and I sit on the patent leather seat with my hands clasped in my lap.

The silence is comfortable, and he puts his arm around me when I shiver. Shawn and I had been friends since freshman year, and had started dating the beginning of junior year. Our relationship hadn't changed much between friends and girlfriend/boyfriend. He was still just as shy, charming, and courteous as before.

The movie is interesting, and neither of us feel the need to talk. I gasp at a particularly scary part and he sends me a soft smile. If I was smart, I would love him with everything I have and never let go. He was solid and unwavering, and would be around as long as I wanted him.

The problem is, I don't want him. I like the attention and support, but Shawn could be boring at times. He never went too far when we made out, not enough to be interesting, and he seemed absolutely repulsed the one time I showed him my breasts. Then again, I had no desire to see his mini-Shawn either.