Creative Writing, Personal

Crows

/written circa May 2015

Donish sent her a text earlier in the day, asking her if she would care to join him in basking in the sunlight and making artwork. The quirky text makes her stomach a little upset, so she chooses to grace his inquiry with silence. Her unsettled stomach comes from fear at the prospect of ever seeing this Donish kid again. Fear, the feeling of apprehension based off of previous instances of bad conduct or actions, is exactly the word she thought would describe this unnerving feeling best.

The date began with her maroon, lace dress, winged eyeliner, black tights, and zip up boots meeting his maroon vest, wrinkly T-shirt underneath, royal blue basketball shorts revealing lanky legs. The evening dusk was beginning to settle in, and with it, a chill in the air. Please don’t be him she thinks, seeing his multi-colored figure from across the lawn. Alas, it is. They meet, hug, and his shaggy, slightly oily hair touches her makeuped face; she pulls apart from him quickly.

She wonders why she agreed to the date in the first place.

Yet, they take off, but not before the tone of the night is set. As if his inappropriate outfit weren’t enough, he has a robust backpack slung up on both shoulders. The cool chill prompts him to take off that backpack, yank out a pair of black pants, and put them on directly in front of her. On top of his shorts. In the middle of the quad. Pen in hand, she shudders at the memory.

Yet, she has agreed to spend the entirety of this night with him, so she sucks in a face of judgment, and smiles innocently. He takes that smile as a sign of positivity, and grabs her cold fingers as they walk toward the Muni train. How forward, she thinks. Not only does he grab onto her hand, he doesn’t let go. Onto the muni, their hands intertwined, they sit together. He is restless, as neither of them paid for their train tickets – a normal action by her, a foreign concept to him.

Their date has no final destination, no rhyme or reason, so, in order to settle his anxiousness, they both dismount at West Portal station in search of somewhere to break his twenty-dollar bill. Hands still glued together, they walk into a music store, and search around. She finally is able to take ownership back of her hand, but not for long. Neither find anything of interest in the little shop of old records, CDs, and cassette tapes, so they leave, onto a new destination. He grabs her hand once more, to her dismay.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let go of you,” he says, probably in an attempt to reassure her.

“I’m not worried,” she replies, that innocent smile plastered across a face, hiding fear from within.

At Starbucks, he orders a small chai tea, and buys her some cookies, despite her protests. His bill is successfully broken, so they head back to the station. She is harboring a multitude of negative feelings, one of them contempt at the fact he made her spend money on a ticket she never has before.

The muni arrives quickly, and back in the same seats they were before, he has his arm wrapped around her in such a way where she finds no comfort. Their reflection shows on the window across, and every time she glances at the image of this couple she’s a part of, that pang of nausea festers.

“What’s your favorite bird?” he asks.

Of course, he asks the most bizarre question. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what’s the first bird that popped into your mind when I asked you that question?”

“Crows,” she replies, looking him straight in the eyes. “Some of my friends say I’m evil.”

He grows silent at her peculiar answer. Good, she thinks.

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