The Girl Who Followed Me Home

Hey all:

Sorry the blog’s been quiet this last week. Life and loljobs and a Patented David Cold rather put my prose-making away. But I woke up this morning and like a musical instrument I found my pen quite in tune. So expect the prosodic abominations to resume. Less than three.


It started on the street outside my apartment. Every day when I was going off to work I’d pass this girl. I’d wave at her or mouth a greeting and she’d smile at me as she passed by. It made me feel good, all the rest of the day.

She had big tired eyes and a big tired smile, she slumped her shoulders but kept her head held high. At first I thought she was interesting-looking. Then I thought she was pretty. At length I learned that she was beautiful.

I didn’t know who she was, where she lived, where she was going every morning. I didn’t even know her name. Could I stop her as she walked down the street? Pardon me, your little acknowledgment of me brightens my every day, buy you a drink?

After a time I did. I introduced myself. She shook my hand, smiled her soft smile, said nothing, and went on her way.

For the rest of the day I thought about her. I realized in passing that I had been for some time. The next day we passed again, I smiled at her and she smiled back to me. A sadder if no wiser man I went off to work.

The next day she stopped as she passed. I turned to her, my eyes brightening, a question forming on my lips. She stopped my lips with her fingers. Then, just briefly, with a kiss. Then she was on my way. When I was done staring after her, so was I.

I didn’t get much work done that day. Visions of sugarplums, anon.

The next day I went to kiss her. She dodged me, smiled and shook her head. I realized this was a silly thing with which to clutter my head. Though I did also realize that my job was such that I could spend a few days staring into space and nobody would notice.

The next day I just smiled at her. She stopped me, then, and just looked at me. I leaned a little forward. She leaned a little back. I leaned a little back. She leaned forward. Until she kissed me.

We kissed for a minute, then another, just standing there on the sidewalk. From one sweet moment to the next she pulled back, kissed my cheek, and was on her way.

My boss yelled at me for not getting any work done.

This happened again the next day, and the next. I ran my hands through the flows of her hair or looked into her tired eyes as she pressed her lips to mine. I ran my hands up and down her sides, she kissed my neck, she stroked my hair. She pressed me into the bricks of a building. Then she took my hand, and led me up the street.

I realized that she was leading me to my own apartment.

She stopped me in front of my door. I fumbled for the keys and let us in. I turned on the lights. She turned them off again. We kissed for a time, standing, then she took me to my bed. We rolled over each other, embracing as passionately as two fully-clothed people can.

She stopped then, and kissed my cheek. Kicked off her shoes, rolled over, and fell asleep.

It took me half an hour to pull myself together, lying there with the girl beside me. I was fairly confident that someone was playing a practical joke on me, be they friend or enemy or the Universe-at-large. I got out of bed, quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping girl. I splashed cold water on my face, drank cold coffee out of the pot. The I sat near my bed and stared at the girl, and marveled that the girl, this beautiful girl, was lying with her head on my pillow, sighing softly in her sleep.

She stirred. I went over to her and gently rubbed her shoulder. She woke with a smile, stretched and squeezed her eyes. She sat up quickly and regretted it slowly. Then she gave me a the kind of hug you live to get, kissed my cheek, and shut the door behind her.

At least I had the presence of mind to call in sick. Not like I would have gotten any work done that day anyway. Instead I sat there in my chair and wondered on the immortal subject of What The Fuck.

Later that night there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and there was the girl. She came in and kissed me and before I could kiss her back she lay down on my bed and fell asleep. She looked so happy, so tiredly at peace, that I could not think to wake her.

Instead I alternated between pretending to work and pretending not to watch her sleep. I’m not very good at playing pretend.

At length she woke, reached out her arms to me and pulled me towards her. She pulled me on top of her and pulled me to her lips and we were as close as two people can be. Who were fully clothed. And one if not both of us very confused. And one if not both of us very happy to be kissing the other.

She stopped after a time, as I knew she would, and held me tight for minutes without end. Then she rose, smiled at me, and left me alone.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and sighed and died and nearly went into sexual-frustration tachycardia. I remembered what it had been like to kiss her, or to hold her, or just to watch her sleep. I dwelled on fresh memories, until they sang me to sleep.

I saw her again in the morning. She smiled at me her tired smile and I returned it, trying not to laugh at it all, trying not to groan. That night she came knocking on my apartment door. No words, no questions, no answers, no sex, no explanation. Except the kissing, which was its own explanation. And the sleeping, which one look at her tired eyes did everything to explain.

Things went on like this. In the mornings we would exchange nothing more than a tired smile. At night, and a different time each night, she would come to my apartment to kiss me and sleep (in whatever order). An hour later, or two, or three, and she would leave me. And that was what it was.

I had no release, I had no sanity, I had no complaints. I even kept my job. Somehow.

I tried to get her to talk to me. She just shook her head. I tried to get her to make love with me. She just shook her head. I tried to get her to stay the night. She just shook her head. I tried not to try, and just shook my head.

It was a little like having a girlfriend, a little like having a cat, a little like having a curse, and a lot like a beautiful girl sleeping softly in my bed. So I didn’t complain. Not especially because I got to kiss her, now and then.

I tried to find out more about her. I couldn’t. I tried to guess her name. I have no idea if I did. I tried to provoke her, so just once I could hear her voice. It didn’t work. I could lie there in my underwear and she wouldn’t even remove her socks. I’m pretty sure I could have thrown a bucket of blowfish on her and it wouldn’t have disturbed her sleep.

One night while we were lying there I put my hand on her flank, let it drift over the horizon of her to hold her breast. She didn’t move. I pulled my hand tighter to her, to me. I don’t think she even woke up. I don’t know. I wanted to wake her. I wanted more than that. After an aching time I removed my hand. Then on second thought I put it back, snuggled up behind her, and went to sleep.

A few hours later she woke, disentangled herself from me and kissed my cheek. I kissed her cheek back, and she smiled. I saw her the next morning, and we smiled at each other. I saw her again that night. We kissed, she left, and I smiled.

I felt a longing for her. A love for her. A desire to keep her or be kept by her, I didn’t care. I felt it every morning when I saw her and twice as much at night. By the clear light of day I realized this was not a good desire to encourage in myself. Moreover that the whole situation was so ridiculous as to be worthy of telling as a story – though to my friends, or my future grandkids, or a psychiatrist, or the police, I had not the littlest idea.

Sitting there at work, doing my job and thinking about her, I came to the conclusion that this was it. This was my relationship with her. Any hope I had that she might change was foolishness at best. This was what she was. And I liked what she was, however I might have hoped to make a little change here and there. I either had to accept it or else throw her out of my bed. But I liked her in my bed. And so I would.

That night she came an we kissed and she slept and I slept beside her, a quiet sleep. When I felt her stir I reached around and gave her a kiss, then rolled over and went back to sleep. I felt her smile kiss my cheek, then heard her footfalls and the quiet closing of the door.

The next night, when the girl had left me, I went out to a bar. Then again the next and the next. I was wound up enough that I did pretty well for myself. It made me feel much better. It made me able to appreciate the girl all the more.

I didn’t find anyone I wanted to start seeing. And then I did.

Her shoulders were slender and her eyes were awake but she was very pretty in her way. She said her name and she talked about herself and she talked about what she wanted in life. She had a nice voice. We talked together, then got together again. It was hard to make a date to see each other. I liked her, but I didn’t want to miss the girl.

We went back to her place. A few times we did. Before that we’d go out. Sometimes after too. Then I realized that we were dating, at least insofar as we kept going on dates. And I realized I liked her. And I realized she was beautiful too. And I realized, then, that I had to tell her.

I could have avoided it. More specifically, I could have turned the girl away. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to choose between them. Maybe this made me enlightened, maybe this made me the worst or the commonest sort of man. All I could think was that, if I wasn’t honest to everyone about everyone else, I’d be an asshole.

And so I told her, about the girl who followed me home.

She stared at me like I was crazy. But then, that wasn’t exactly a strange reaction to my little life.

She thought about it for a while. She looked at me and said she thought it was pretty fucking ridiculous.

That, I decided, was the best possible response. Short of kissing me. Which she did as well. Stopping only a few times to laugh or shake her head.

We spent that night at my place. In the morning we walked to the T together. I pointed out the girl coming the other way. I smiled at her, she smiled back, and the girl next to me did much the same. That night when she came to me I thought I saw a searching look in her eye. I met it, and I smiled, and we kissed and we stopped and we slept and she woke and was gone.

The next day, over drinks, my girlfriend asked if she could meet the girl.

I didn’t know what to do then. I didn’t want to risk what I had. I knew I would not lose my girlfriend over this, but the girl? I had no idea. I had not the slightest idea. Which was all the problem of the situation. But it was the situation, and so help me I did not want it to go away.

How long could this be tenable for? One month? One year? Ten? Who knew but that it would all blow away in an instant? Who knew but that, one day soon, I would be the one to make it stop?

At length I gave my assent, and invited my girlfriend home to meet the girl.

We met at my apartment after work. We waited for hours, not daring to love or lay each other down. When there was a knock on the door the room emptied with relief just as it filled with tension. I went to the door, opened it, and welcomed the girl inside.

She smiled at the girl sitting on her bed. She smiled at me. She put her face near mine and let it hang there like a Madonna on a canvas. I looked to my girlfriend, to myself, to God and his fucking peculiar humor. And I kissed her. And she kissed me back.

She took my hand and led me to my bed. Her bed. What’s the difference? We crawled in together and she took my face in my hands and kissed me. I tried to ignore the presence of the girl I was dating some three feet away. One might as well have ignored the guillotine-blade hanging overhead.

The girl stopped kissing me, sooner than she usually did. She didn’t kiss my cheek. She turned her head and looked up at the new person in the room. She reached out her hand and my girlfriend took it. It was almost a handshake. Something like that.

The girl pulled her down to the bed with us. She lay on the far side of me, the girl between. She looked at the girl. The girl leaned her head towards her, and smiled her tired smile. They leaned forward, each a little more. Then their lips met. Then they kissed.

They held that kiss for a very long time. Then it broke. Then they went back in for another.

After a time the girl turned to me and I kissed her, very thoroughly. She alternated her attentions, and I even had a chance to kiss my girl once or twice. And after a time, the sweetest silent time, she stopped and kissed my cheek, and then that of the girl beside her. Closed her eyes, snuggled into the pillow, and began to sleep.

My girlfriend and I looked at each other, there over her gently breathing form, for a very long time.

We shrugged, and smiled. Rolled over beside her, and went to sleep.


~ by davekov on 27 June 2011.

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