Tuesday, February 21, 2012

107_yroldvirgin Week 92: Inevitable Yes


Picture 1

Picture 2

107_yroldvirgin’'s Choice: Picture 2

Inevitable Yes

He’s holding his case in both hands, pushing it into the back of the van. The same ratty van they’ve been in for years. Playing the same twenty songs, just in a different set list.

His hair is shorter now, but it will only be that way for a few weeks. He is half Yetty, as far as I am concerned.

“Come.” His eyes are smiling, and so are his lips, but it’s his heart and intentions that I need to focus on. Not these pretty things that adorn his face.

I play with the ends of my hair, fire-red and curled today because I knew I would see him. My fingers reach for the cross that lays somewhere between my breasts, against soft cotton. The feel of the metal against my fingertips centers me. Grounds me from making rash decisions.

I’ve seen this show a million times. And it always ends with him leaving.

He always leaves.

“I’m busy,” I answer instead. It’s an outright lie. And he knows it.

Shifting his things to a less precarious position, he turns and leans against the back of the van, his eyes roaming my face for the truth. “No, you’re not.”

My feet shift and I drop the necklace charm to go back to fiddling with my hair. “But I really am. I have a thing at a friend’s house.”

His lips pulse as he tries not to smile, his fingers dipping into denim pockets as he loses his fight. “A thing at a friend’s? You can do better than that.”

And I could, but I think we both know that I suck at playing coy. I’m sure we both know that, in the end, I will go. I will stand in the crown or huddle in a corner and watch as he does what he loves the most, while holding me just off to the side. He will show off his passion on a stage while I wait patiently, taking what he gives in the form of his music. And later in the night, as he drinks more and his words become loose, whispered in my ear... I know that I’ll end up with him through the dark night and into early morning.

But sunrise will bring his goodbyes. Soft kisses and promises of ‘soon’.

And, maybe, just this time, I want to pretend that he doesn’t sway me so easily.

Because we both know he does.