You remember that girl in school, the one that looked just like Ally Sheedy in St. Elmo's Fire? With the 80's feathered hair, and eyes that stopped your heart?
Capturing your gaze from afar, she veritably seemed to float above the ground, oblivious to the lesser-creatures around her. And do you remember when you naïvely bared your soul to her in some blind desperate hope that she might look beyond your lowly station in life and embrace the wanton desires that had lain so untapped in both your souls until that point?
Except... she didn't believe you? And you
know she didn't believe you by that lacklustre tone of voice women have when they're navigating that line between outright rejection and the cold "Eh, he's sweet a kid, but I could do better"?
And, years later, in that moment when the boy's pre-frontal cortex finally matures and surpasses that of the girl, you realise that it wasn't the rejection that so damaged your soul in later life (that was a lucky escape), it was really that subtle
tone of voice that resonated like an E-minor chord, decimating, shattering, painting a masterpiece with the blood that continued to flow from the wound for decades afterward.
And that's where I continued to live, between the cold and the rejected, thriving with the unrecognised romantic guile of the emotionally damned. Creativity forever held captive by the girl who just didn't understand.
Nikos wrote:sorry, thank you very much kilmatead for sharing your wisdom
I went from merely being part of the furniture to being that awful ugly credenza that always manages to be in the way and provide the perfect target for stubbing your toe in the middle of the night. But since your wife's beloved Auntie-Betsy gave it to you as a grudging wedding re-gift, you have to keep it around in case the vile relation comes to visit unexpectedly.
It's a tough old life, being the afterthought.
<Tap><Tap> "Is this thing on?" <Crackling sound>
The Broken Wing Display of the Killdeer, which Wikipedia strangely labels the "Ungulate Display", is a great defensive ploy to use against your enemies. Vercingetorix in Caesar's Gallic Travelogue taught us that. Yeah, he spent years in prison and died a messy death on display in Rome - but hey, his spirit got the upper hand in the end.
"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!" Ally Sheedy never knew what she started.