Cute-Toed-Girl

Soundtrack: Local H - Twelve Angry Months

Cute-Toed-Girl - - well, she's more than a girl. She is an intelligent young woman with the social happenings of a radical girl. I met her earlier this summer during the first summer session at the university. We were instantly comfortable around one another, sitting side by side, absorbing information, trading study tactics, and growing annoyed simultaneously with the other classmates.

People could say her face was plain, but I called it beautiful all the same. It was the mind behind the face with the dark soul-panes that I liked. She was sharp, ruthless for a good grade; I couldn't help but at the very least be slightly smitten. On this particular day of discovery, she was wearing a lime green vest over a brighter, similar colored tank top with a skirt that had a matching grass pattern with speckles of lavender colored flowers all around. Her legs showed that she tried to stay fit; her small size makes her easily susceptible to weight gain. Her footwear were plain colored fashion sandals that exposed those adorable feet-digits. They were the cutest toes I had ever seen. Most women in my area have outstretched, battered toes inherited from their mothers and grandmothers who typically work eight to sixteen hours a day all on their feet, walking everywhere they went, but her toes were short and perfectly round like a blossoming spring-time bud, making her much more unique considering it was summer.

We maintained a steady friendship, never venturing beyond our cordial boundaries. She told me about her life, her troubles with men. I told her things about me that kept her telling me more about herself.

On that last day, that lingering spark of attraction escaped the shadow of idea and fleshed itself out into reality. She wore pink and white converse shoes. We were sitting outside the classroom awaiting for the previous class to leave; I told her how cute I thought her toes were. Her 'thank you' was strong and undoubtedly appreciative. She mentioned that she is very self-conscious about her feet, she went on, and had she known I was looking she would have pulled them away from my eyes. I told her I figured she would, so I never said anything until then.

The day of our class final I kept my headphones wrapped around my ears, losing myself in Nada Surf's Lucky album. She studied, but awkwardly she wouldn't stop looking at me. I wanted to give her all the possible to peruse her notes. She gained control of herself and did, but occasionally she still glanced in my direction. I desperately wanted to acknowledge her, but couldn't. Our hearts were right, our minds were close, but our social worlds were so different - she still enjoyed the outings that a young person should; the night clubs and the parties. I didn't; I never had. Plus, she still had ties to an on-off-again boyfriend, which I wanted no part of. As much as we knew about one another, it wasn't enough. Maybe she was the type of woman who needed drama in her life. I'm too easygoing and focused to be trifled with that unnecessary headache. 

And yet....maybe I could have used a little drama.

We took our exams. Our last class day, we compared grade; I beat her by four points. We said bye, and we hugged. It was a hug that never wanted to end. We pulled apart, and for a brief moment the silence was begging to be filled. We looked in each others' eyes, both begging for the other to say something, and all I came up with was "bye."

I have yet to see her again. I hope she's well. I hope she's happy. Her toes are still the cutest ones I have ever seen.

Somehow, I find myself having to move on from her at least once a year. She just pops into my head; I'm not sure what the subconscious trigger is, but annually I keep moving on. It's all we've ever done, all we can ever do.