so, heres my story.

ive been specially clumsy and stuff today. and yesterday. oops. i think ive used up my 'oops' quotients for...o...i dont know...the next 6 months? probably.
the national gaurd just sent me a dvd. they think im interested. i think they're wrong.
oh.. and you know what he said? well, multiple things really, but he said that forgiveness is not offered grudgingly.
::::and now for something completely different--::::
its not done. be critical if you have a mind too, please. but here you go anyway. ___________________________________________________
[ We’re at the bus stop–he and I. [I very nearly hate this sentence]] A while ago the sun had stopped being a relaxing, embracing warm and now it was merely oppressive and hot. I looked down. My pink tank top is stretched almost to the limit; I’ll have to go shopping soon. If I can manage it–the electricity bill was due soon, and rent, and I have to save what little else I can for the doctor and the baby. Does the bus go by Goodwill? I think I’m getting sunburned. The man and I exchange glances and shy smiles. We sit, waiting, on nearly opposite sides of the bench. But–it doesn’t feel like he’s avoiding me. I look at him, trying not to let him notice. Oh, he’s handsome. He looks like he ought to be named Tim. No. That’s wrong. He wouldn’t be named Tim. Adam or Josh maybe? I know a lot about names right now; I change buses at the library sometimes and when the bus runs late I check out baby name books. I have to figure out what to name this little one. Oh. The man’s name should be Drew. I don’t know if that’s his name or not, and I’m too shy to ask him–there would have been a time when I would have asked but not anymore. I’m more shy than I used to be, now I usually keep to myself unless its unavoidable. Yes, his name should be Drew. I sit next to Drew and wonder if in another lifetime he would have asked for my phone number, or if we would be having a conversation right now. He might sit by me on the bus. He won’t now, not with me like this. He’s handsome and he’s probably tall. [something needs to be said here. She starts squirming, and discovering hes perfect. Why? I don’t know. ] He notices that I’m squirming and scoots over a little. I can feel his perfect eyes on me, wondering if I was alright. I’m probably a mess--sweaty, pregnant, no makeup-I woke up late,- and now I’m squirming [awkward punctuation oops.] . Why can’t I sit still? I chance a glance at Drew and my green eyes run into his brown ones. Perfect brown eyes. His eyes are worried. About me. Hmmmm. He’s sweet. I try to contain my restlessness to make him stop worrying and, to busy my hands, I re-do my ponytail. The back of my neck is sweaty. Drew is still looking at me, half smiling now, but still worried.. I look for the bus again. "So, when is your baby due?" I look at Drew again. His eyes are kind. I can’t–don’t– answer him for a minute. I just look at him. "Uh..." I stammer. I shake my head hurriedly, trying to remember when I’m going to be free from this extra weight in front of me. "Uh...the beginning of September." "Oh, that’s only about a month away." "Yeah." We’re quiet, sweaty, lonely,[ together [wrong word, I think]] . His voice is perfect. He’s perfect. He hates me. He’s so handsome. I look at his profile again; wishing for that other lifetime so that we might have a chance to be happy–I wouldn’t be pregnant and he would be wonderful and we would be perfect and happy–together. I look down the road–the bus is finally coming [i think the bus comes too soon and then it takes too long to get there after that] . Thank goodness. It is still far down the road though. I’m hot, sweaty, uncomfortable, both from the bench and from our awkward silence which I can’t manage to fill. "Uh...would you like a Sprite?" Somehow he has a cold, unopened can of Sprite. Maybe his girlfriend packed it for him in his lunch. Where was he going? Why was he riding the bus? He had to have a car. His car broke down. No. His girlfriend needed it and he let her borrow it. He is kind, handsome, perfect. Why can’t I be his girlfriend? He probably won’t want me anyway. Why is he so perfect? Why won’t the bus come any faster? Wait, no. I just realized, I don’t want to leave him. He’s perfect and kind and I don’t want to leave him and I don’t want the bus to come. I’ll just sit next to him forever. Oh man, I haven’t answered his question yet. He hates me. "Uh...yes. Please. A Sprite would be wonderful." Oh. I sound stupid. I sound really stupid. He hates me, I know it. Maybe he’ll sit by me on the bus. Are we going to the same place? He hands it to me. "Thank you," I murmur. "You’re welcome." I take a sip. Ah. It is the best Sprite I’ve ever had. Did he drug it? I’m going to get addicted to something and my baby’s going to be deformed because Drew drugged my Sprite. I keep drinking it; I’m more thirsty than I realized. Oh. The bus is finally here. I struggle to get up. Drew stands up to help me and walks with me to the bus. He is so kind. He helps me up the first big step. "Well, good luck," he says. "Thank you." He isn’t getting on the bus. Why isn’t he getting on the bus? I almost panic. I need him. I want him. What will I do without him? Drew, perfect Drew. Come with me. We can be happy, I can pack you a Sprite in your lunch. I really can. I know it. The door is closing and we stand on the opposite sides just looking at each other. Why isn’t he coming? Right before the door closes I ask him if he’s coming. "Nah, I’m waiting for the next bus." Then the driver slams the door and starts to drive. I almost trip but catch myself; I stumble to the nearest seat trying to watch Drew as long as I can. He waves to me. I smile at him. And then I remember to wave back to him–my Drew. I watch him smile at me as long as I can and sip our Sprite. *** I put out the clean empty can of Sprite in the baby’s room. My little Drew is perfect. [do i really need to say the last part? i feel like i should cause thats what happens...but i kinda like the story without it...hmmm]

(6/22/2004 11:57 PM)