Fate, Timing, Twists
January 4, 2012 § 1 Comment
My cousin is a day younger than I am. She’s my cousin only through a twisted line of marriages, and it’s hard to explain. See, my mother got married 8 times that I know of, and her 8th husband was a decent man. Anyway, his parents divorced and remarried to people with kids of their own, so his step sister is the mother to my cousin. And somehow, through timing and twists, my cousin and I ended up spending one summer in a small town in Wisconsin when we were 15. That summer was nothing but hanging out on the lake and trying to get the local boys to get us stoned.
And somehow, even though I moved a million times after that, and she went back to LA, through another bit of timing and twists, we both ended up back in Wisconsin another summer three years later. She was studying music, and I was trying to get away from the town I had been living in after I’d lifted a bunch of drugs off a guy stupid enough to pass out in my presence. I had a few weeks before I was to go off to college on a full paid scholarship, and I figured it was best to spend that time in Wisconsin, getting rid of the drugs and fucking guys.
The power of two skinny legged, perky breasted 18 year old pussy-carrying miscreants isn’t a thing you can measure with a few words about heat. Girls like my cousin and I are crazy dangerous on our own. She had a talent for not giving a fuck, and I had a talent for giving off a sex vibe. So, young, full of sexy, and with access to clubs since she was running sound for rock shows and I was holding, we had a few solid weeks to fill ourselves with any cock we pointed ourselves toward.
The night I met you, we were bored as hell with the usual routine. The night before we’d both taken home some guys from bands, and mine was an asshole, and hers was just boring. She said when he fingered her he kept inserting his index finger, lamely, asking her how much she liked it. We had a lot of fun making that finger gesture for the rest of the trip. That night, we were stoned, we were driving around, and we saw you and your friend walking down a sidewalk. We circled the block and we picked you up.
Your dumb fuck friend, the tall, doofy blonde with the bad skin who was carrying a big bong in his backpack, he was going on and on about how you two had just been walking and you’d literally said to him, “Wouldn’t it be amazing if two chicks showed up and picked us up right now?” You were quiet, and sweet, but he wouldn’t shut up about fate. Your doofy friend had believed that we were all meant to be there, and even when we got back to my cousins place, and you two were listening to music and doing bong rips, and he and I were on the dirty kitchen floor fucking, he just kept talking about fate. He was pumping away, and then he came inside me, still talking, and in those moments after he was done, when I was laying there, all I could think was, “Holy fuck. I think I just got pregnant.”
Over the next week you kept coming over, and I took your virginity, and you kept calling me your fantasy woman. The way you looked at me as I walked around naked, summer sun skin and strawberry blonde hair, I felt like a girl out of a song. Nobody had ever- nobody has ever looked at me that way. I blame you, in a way, for all the years that followed of me loving every single song with “girl” in the title, because all I ever wanted after that was for someone to think I was their fantasy.
Your doofy friend was the one who knocked me up. I know this for sure now, because I know his name, and I’ve looked him up, and he looks more like my son than I do. He’s a land surveyor and a youth minister, and he has no idea that there’s a teenage kid carrying around his fate-genes. I have no reason to tell him; it wouldn’t do any good. He’d probably feel like God had some message for us, and the last thing I really need is this land surveyor in my life. My son even knows, and he saw your friend’s picture, and he shrugged and said that it just didn’t really matter.
Maybe it was fate, as far as I know, that brought you into my life, left me with the son of some dork, and kept you completely untraceable on the internet. Fate handed me a few moments of being truly adored, and then laughed in my face over it, because I can only ever find what I don’t want in men, or men that don’t want me.
The most you and I would have had is a few months before I freaked you out and showed myself as less than a fantasy, you know? And somehow, through timing and twists, I now have this kid here, and he’s not some replacement for true love. I haven’t turned him into my pseudo-husband. But he does love the way I always smell like tomatoes, and he does laugh at me when I get mad and stomp like a little child. And he never fucking talks about fate. He doesn’t even believe in the stuff. Thank fuck for small favors.