Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Remember Molly

There's only one Molly in my memory, and she's the awkwardly handsome girl that I will never, ever cross paths with again. 

At least that's what I thought. 

The last few weeks of this year's spring semester, I was driving down the same road I drive down when I get out of class. Except I wasn't getting out of class. I was picking up a friend from his class because I dropped all my damn classes. We were near the 680 freeway entrances, stopped at some red light while we shared a smoke when fate or coincidence or some higher power slapped me across the face. In front of me was a forest green sedan with some short-haired girl on the driver's seat. Immediately my goddamn chest launched itself up my throat. I turned to Xavier and I knew he didn't have a clue as to why I just gasped at him until I couldn't breathe anymore. In attempts to explain to him who she was, I stammered and struggled. Before I could even assure that it was her, I celebrated with the biggest grin I had ever grinned. I bared my teeth, letting them glisten at the hopes that it was her. Then she began playing with her hair. She swiped her little bangs to the left then looked in her rear view mirror where she revealed herself to me. There she was with her boyishly pretty face, looking at herself in her goddamn rear view mirror, and I giddily pretended that she was looking at me. We were stopped at the red light longer than I had ever been in front of a red light (or so it felt like it). And she kept fixing her beautiful hair in front of me, looking at me ignorantly through her beautiful rear view mirror. Eventually I found a level of paranoia as she remained looking into her rear view. I started to get the feeling that she knew I was staring and I began to feel nervous so I looked away. Immediately regretting looking away even for a second, the light turned green and we were moving. I stared intently at her in her car until she made a left onto some street that I wasn't turning left to. I drove on and told myself that this will be the last of it. That this will be the last time she strikes me with her existence. 

Until I see her again, that is. 

If I see her again. 

In reference to: Her Name Is Molly

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