this girl.

1. downtown, tenth and cherry, i like it better late at night, without people, i told her. you go alone?, she asked. maybe not tonight, i said, should i call you before i leave? yeah, she replied, call me. i called her at 11:11.

2. i like how she walks. i like how her hips and legs move, how she holds her back, how she doesn’t seem to notice when i turn my head to watch her profile. she seems unselfconscious. i wonder if she knows she’s beautiful. that mouth. those eyes.

3. brushing arms, next to eachother on the sidewalk, and i’m so aware of every movement. we’re sketching pictures of our lives for eachother, filling in details at places, leaving others empty for later. i wonder if she likes the picture i’m painting. i want her to like it. i want her to like me.

4. we sit at the columns, her thigh barely touching mine. i can feel the heat of her body through my jeans like an electric shock. there’s a humming in my body. neither of us can remember the story behind them. later, i’m standing on the edge, and almost fall backwards. don’t do that, she says, you scared me. come here. sit down. be safe.

5. i tell her i’ll make her dinner. at the moment i say it, i mean sometime in the future. when i get home later, i take chicken out of the freezer, and make a marinade. i think the future means tomorrow. today.

6. walking the streets of my hometown, again. we give eachother piggyback rides. i can feel my cheek brush against her hair, my lips barely graze her neck. we’re laughing. after that, her arm is in mine, or mine in hers.

7. she says she’d love to teach me how to play drums. i say i’d love to make her sugar cookies. with icing?, she asks. depends on how much effort i’m willing to put out, i tell her, smiling. this means, yes, if you keep smiling at me with that smile, with icing, yes.

8. she tells me i’m going to kansas city with her sometime. she drives back for band practice and shows. the drive gets lonely, she claims, and she’s running out of good cds to listen to. i smile. i’ve been smiling all night. i could manage that, i say.

9. at tenth and cherry, we sit in her car, listening to her band. they’re good, genuinely good. i pay attention to her drumming; i imagine her playing. it’s one of the prettiest things i’ve imagined in months.

10. we discover that we share the same middle name. it’s old-fashioned, uncommon. we both smile. she knows i have to get home to write. she walks me to my car; it’s past 1:30. what time do you have class tomorrow?, i ask. she avoids my eyes. 8 am?, i ask. she smiles. you can’t let me keep you up like this, i tease her.

11. she tells me to open my car door, and i do. i’m sitting in the driver’s seat, door open, legs out, looking up at her. we’re both stalling this goodbye. you can get out and give me a hug i guess, she says. i get out.

12. my arms are around her neck, and her arms are around my ribs, our faces into eachothers’ shoulders. there’s that soft, sweet, deep note in my stomach; this is the right kind of attraction. this is something women do to me that men never have, the darkest warmest bell. when i turn my face, we kiss- small kisses, sweet kisses, but there’s a hunger i’m almost afraid to admit to.

13. i watch her walk back to her car. she watches me watching her. i turn on my engine, turn my car around, and pause. she opens her door, walks to my door. my window is down. i forgot something, she says, and i tilt my face up to meet hers. we kiss again, and again, and after a minute, i pull away. goodnight, i tell her. goodnight, she tells me.

14. driving home, i get lost in daydreams. at a blinking red light, i stop and forget to go. i look up after two minutes, realize that no one’s around, that i’m sitting still and waiting for no reason but her.

15. i don’t know where or how or if this will go, but i know that tonight, in casual conversation mixed with her beautiful smiles, i remembered pieces of myself i thought i had lost- and it was a good feeling. it was the right feeling.