Walking up the stairs to the club I spied her. I noticed how she carried herself- like a dancer might, and I was distracted as her petite frame floated toward the doorway. Just as she was walking through she turned back and looked down the stairs… and right at me. I remember at some point later spotting her across the other side of the bar, lined up beside her friend waiting to get served. I studied her for quite a while, and then she suddenly turned and looked at me. Again. That was when I noticed those green, almond shaped eyes, and I knew what I had to do.

As the clock struck twelve and random, drunken boys frantically sought random drunken girl’s throats to ram their tongues into, I suddenly found myself alone. Then things went all movie like, and the crowd parted, and there she was, just standing there and looking a bit lost. I just walked right up, delivered possibly the cheesiest pick up line ever, and in a second she just melted into me. As I pulled away I had two thoughts. 1) Man, she tastes good, and 2) I can’t believe that worked!

My guess about Bridgette was close - it turned out she was in fact a gymnast. We talked, danced and snogged our way into the early hours until her wallflower mother hen friend called an end to play. The next day we hooked up as planned , but in the light of the harsh midday sun things were different. As she walked toward me, accompanied by her frumpy friend, she still looked sensational - but something was missing. She gave off a different vibe, the conversation was stilted, and I started to wonder if it was such a good idea after all. Nonetheless, we had one final parting snog and swapped phone numbers - which I thought was a good sign in the sober light of day.

Two weeks later, and after our holidays were over, I called her up and we went to see a movie. She warned me in advance that her single, mother hen friend would come, so I arranged a ( slightly desperate ) mate to join us. Once again though there was no magic, and conversation was awkward. It seemed like New Year’s eve was a complete aberration - a fluke perhaps - and there really wasn’t any hope of us getting together. I don’t even think they stayed until the end of the movie… they just got up and left, and I never saw her or spoke to her again.

Jen had always been fun. We had similar tastes in music, bad eighties movies, and laughed at the same bad jokes. Although we were both single and often ended up at the same parties, we remained just good mates - but one night that all changed. I don’t really know how it happened - we were just joking around, partying, and dancing badly as we had many times before. I remember it was a balmy summer night, and she suddenly said to me “come on… let’s go for a walk up the beach”.

So we wandered off away from the crowd, and carried on joking, chucking sand and seaweed at each other as we disappeared into the night. As we neared the other side of the bay I led her up to the top of the headland, guiding her from one granite boulder to the next. I knew each one of them intimately, having done the same walk countless times before under dim starlight. We crossed the ridge and could now hear the roar of the surf, and we sat down on a large flat rock overlooking the next bay. The lights of the town winked across the water and we both just sat there, silent for quite a while, taking it all in. And then it happened.

Walking down from the headland later we held hands, and there was that funny feeling when you suddenly see someone you’ve known so well in that way for the first time. We returned to the party with sand in our hair and god knows where else, and I think it was pretty obvious to our mutual friends that we’d come back somehow different to how we were when we left.

The next day a bunch of us met up and went for a bodysurf at a nearby beach. When I first saw Jen I really didn’t know what to do… were we an item now or not? Should I walk up and take her hand… or just stand back and go with the flow? I opted for the latter, and as we floated about in the surf and ducked under waves we exchanged a limited number of awkward words. The conversation between us was dysfunctional, and we both seemed relieved to talk to someone… anyone else. It must have been painful to watch for those who’d figured it out. Later we both just sort of drifted back to our separate campsites, and didn’t see each other for the rest of the long weekend. I bumped into her at numerous parties later and we exchanged polite conversation, but things were never the same.

I was going out with her best friend, but we hadn’t really talked much. We went to a few parties and I saw her a few times, but I really didn’t know her all that well. After a few months I broke up with Nadia, and took some time out to live the the life of a single guy again. I partied hard, drank too much, drove my car too fast, and tried my luck - largely unsuccessfully - with numerous girls.

One night at yet another party over that lost summer, I spied her over in the corner. Another girl with green almond shaped eyes, looking lost. I wandered over and asked if she was OK, and while offering a “yes”, reluctantly admitted that she wasn’t really a “party person”. I said neither was I, and suggested we be non-party people together, and that made her laugh. As the night unfolded we shared countless “oh my god!” moments, and I was amazed to find how much she and I were alike. We were united in our hatred of bogans and the small town mentality, and love of Ska and Punk music. I really wondered how I didn’t know this about her, and also how Nadia and her came to be such close friends.

The night went well, and I felt a bit like I’d met a kindred spirit. But once we’d kissed goodnight and she floated off into the darkness, I could already feel myself letting go of her. Apart from the fact I wasn’t really ready to get involved with anyone again, I also felt the power of negative conditioning. I thought back to Jen, and Bridgette, and how I had so enjoyed the time I had with them - but how it all seemed to fall apart the day after. She’d given me her number, but I honestly believed calling her the next day would reveal a completely different person. I decided there and then I didn’t want to have one of those off hand, distant, awkward conversations with her. I didn’t want to go out on a date and find we really had nothing to talk about. I didn’t want to know that all we seemed to have in common on that night was transient, artificial, and fueled purely by hormones and pheromones.

I never called.

Almost half a year passed, until one day by sheer chance, I bumped into her a country fair. I prepared myself for indifference and awkwardness, and I was ready to face up to the reality that she wasn’t as she’d seemed when I last saw her. At the same time though, I wondered about coincidence, and fate, and all those weird intangible things that I normally tend to dismiss out of hand. So I took a chance. We spent the afternoon just walking around, laughing and flirting, and by the end of the day I was convinced there was more to it. So was she.

Years later, she still ribs me about it.

“I waited by the phone, all day… just in case”, she tells me. “I gave up hope after a few weeks, I just figured you’d forgotten me”.

She was of course wrong - I hadn’t forgotten her - I just chose to remember this beautiful girl as she was on that night. As far as I was concerned, anything that followed could only tarnish the memory.

My wife still asks me.

“I still never figured out why you didn’t call”.

“Ohhhh”, I reply wistfully, “it’s a long story…”

Tags: general //