Post by B. Marquis on Jan 10, 2011 3:49:42 GMT -5
The Social
I seem to wonder how everyone feels about me.
My friend Clementine told me about a party, and because she believes I needed to get out more, which the feeling is mutual, she brought me in as her “date.” She told me it will be a good experience. I personally thought that it will lead to disaster, but hey, what's to lose?
The party seemed alright. It was kinda like high school, a particular group here and a particular group there. The only difference is that they do not play a role here. Technically a groups of women came together, as well as groups a men. Some unisex groups and some couple groups.
“Hi, I'm John,” I say. I guess my vibe wasn't vibrant, because I usually get at least 2 more words out before they start going on their way. I sometimes strike conversation, usually due to Clementine's involvement. She just wants to see me happy.
What's a party without liquor. It was a frat party of all things, so the beer was a plenty. I didn't mind drinking, after all, I do need to loosen up.
I seem to fit in well. Not because of the beer, though it made me more open, nah, it was Clema's good graces. I bet I wouldn't have a girl dancing with me, let alone a beautiful blonde with glasses. She's been overhearing things.
Just then, I felt someone pushing on me. He didn't seem comfortable with me, nor my dancing on this woman, but have been his girl or sister. I tried to reason with him, but smelling salts really work!
The party's over. Everyone's leaving. I just got up to Clema's hugs, wondering if I'm alright. I told her yes, with the notable exception of this painful headache. I asked her if the party's over because of me. She shrugged. I knew it. She then told me it was more the fault of the man who punched me. I looked back and see the man, drunk, being escorted by the police, the blonde screaming at him for ruining her night. She then, like an angel main because of the light behind her, went to see if I'm alright. She then gave me a sheet of paper which took me the next morning to find out that it was her number.
“Call it!” said Clema.
Now, I'm pretty sure I can be social, even though I wasn't taught to. It's kinda nice knowing that. What was more nice is the fact that the Blonde, Joan, coming over to see how I was doing.
“Hey there, Night-Eyes,” She says so endearing as she kisses my forehead.
That name stayed with me my entire college stay.
I seem to wonder how everyone feels about me.
My friend Clementine told me about a party, and because she believes I needed to get out more, which the feeling is mutual, she brought me in as her “date.” She told me it will be a good experience. I personally thought that it will lead to disaster, but hey, what's to lose?
The party seemed alright. It was kinda like high school, a particular group here and a particular group there. The only difference is that they do not play a role here. Technically a groups of women came together, as well as groups a men. Some unisex groups and some couple groups.
“Hi, I'm John,” I say. I guess my vibe wasn't vibrant, because I usually get at least 2 more words out before they start going on their way. I sometimes strike conversation, usually due to Clementine's involvement. She just wants to see me happy.
What's a party without liquor. It was a frat party of all things, so the beer was a plenty. I didn't mind drinking, after all, I do need to loosen up.
I seem to fit in well. Not because of the beer, though it made me more open, nah, it was Clema's good graces. I bet I wouldn't have a girl dancing with me, let alone a beautiful blonde with glasses. She's been overhearing things.
Just then, I felt someone pushing on me. He didn't seem comfortable with me, nor my dancing on this woman, but have been his girl or sister. I tried to reason with him, but smelling salts really work!
The party's over. Everyone's leaving. I just got up to Clema's hugs, wondering if I'm alright. I told her yes, with the notable exception of this painful headache. I asked her if the party's over because of me. She shrugged. I knew it. She then told me it was more the fault of the man who punched me. I looked back and see the man, drunk, being escorted by the police, the blonde screaming at him for ruining her night. She then, like an angel main because of the light behind her, went to see if I'm alright. She then gave me a sheet of paper which took me the next morning to find out that it was her number.
“Call it!” said Clema.
Now, I'm pretty sure I can be social, even though I wasn't taught to. It's kinda nice knowing that. What was more nice is the fact that the Blonde, Joan, coming over to see how I was doing.
“Hey there, Night-Eyes,” She says so endearing as she kisses my forehead.
That name stayed with me my entire college stay.