The Bug Wave

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Fuckin' messed up thing to have to learn at 21.

The Bug Wave

By

Chris Casey

 

By the time I got to be 20 and damn near 12 twelfth's, I was tired of the shit already,

Tired of trying to find that ‘someone’ that the songs have been singing about

My birthday was all planned out, by me-for me; popcorn, movies, and a new game for the console.

Poifect.

‘Cept my brother’s had other ideas.

Bastids

I tried to struggle, and I put up a hell of a verbal boxing ballet, but no…

Plied by a bunch of bourbons, I complied, in protest.

I was going to stamp my foot, but I knew, at that moment in time, I was no more than a ghost of Chris’s past and was therefore not physically weighted enough to actually make a stern enough sound.

I was terrified, that if a stiff wind whipped up, I would blow away like smoke; I was *that* insubstantial.

Being at the bar made me feel small, insignificant, and alone.

That small addition, on top of, my already frostbit, frailty; was the creak; like the creakkkk, that the people on the Titanic should have heard, whispering across the cold seas from the iceberg.

*The seas were stormy that night lads, and the clouds were so dark, it was like the very abyss was hanging over our doomed hay’eds.*

Just kidding.

I was just getting into the music, and the shots were flowing fast and furious.

Great multi-colored waves crashing against my well-built, shame-blocking wall. Dammit.

*And the last thing we heard the captain say, as he slowly floated away, was:

“Save yourselves, lads, that’s it for me, but you, you can show em what I taught you.”*

Again, just kidding, not sure what that is, what he supposedly taught us, or maybe even who ‘he’ was or maybe what he was supposed to represent, actually…

I was just starting to yearn for my new game, I could almost feel the plastic film fall away from my static stuck flinging, fingers…

It should have been an omen, but it wasn’t.

They pointed her out from across the room, they swore under the oath of my beleaguered stare. She was checking me out. Really, for realz.

I shrugged it off, as I was taught in the preschool days of my permanent aloneness doctorate indoctrination.

It took them exactly three songs to turn me around.

Tacking against the winds of change is hard work. Believe it.

As I stood before her, basking in her goddess-like beauty, I believed.

“would you like to dance?”

My soul was naked, every nerve-ending exposed…

She scanned me once up, and once down… like I would imagine the borg-queen would.

Then she flicked her fingers, slowly, palm down, languorously; like some depraved part of her, enjoyed the sensation. The royal flick, of an intermittent bug, tantamount to a killing I’m sure… thank goodness she had no Jedi powers.

And she said nothing. She just stared sternly at me, like I was some petulant child, too slow and stubborn to truly learn its place.

I walked away, with the shame I had not earned, burning my face and tinting my ears.

 I did not ask another girl to dance for at least three years.

That’s when I learned to dance alone.

Thank you,

you bug-waving bitch.

 

The end


Submitted: November 18, 2021

© Copyright 2021 chrispy. All rights reserved.

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