8/22/12

Eleanor
By Mike Berger


The phone rang two or three times a day, with girls calling me; I had my choice of girls to take out. Text messages came flooding in, but I deleted them without ever being read. Most of the girls used as subtle approach; they would ask me if I knew what was assigned for homework in English. A few were blatant and told me they were more than available. Content to play the field, I was having a ball, but some crazy feeling kept nagging at me. It took six months for me to finally pin down those odd feelings.

I finally realized that those feelings became intense when I was around Eleanor.
She was the only girl in the school who didn't know that I existed. When we passed in the halls, she never saw my smile, I seemed to be invisible. With all the other girls clamoring for a date, my mind was frozen on Eleanor. I often found myself daydreaming in class, where I would be kissing her lips.

The odd thing about it was there wasn't anything remarkable about her. She had mousy brown hair always done in soft curls. She had a pretty face, but nothing outstanding. She was flat in the chest. She wore a superior, regal look, but had an assertive walk. She was aloof around everyone, as if she owned the world.
She rarely smiled and when she did, you noted that her smile was lopsided.

I asked a mutual friend to introduce us. He scoffed at the thought, and he told me the word around school was she was as cold as a polar bear in a snowstorm.
Meeting Eleanor wasn't what I had hoped for. She held out as stiff hand and gave me a polite hello. For the first time in my life, I was tongue tied and barely able to choke out, "Hello."

Going out of my way to run into her, she might give me a wave of her hand. It took me two weeks to work up the courage to ask her out. I was on top of the world when she said, "Yes." I felt like a kid in a candy store. Standing in front of my mirror for hours, I rehearsed a thousand lines; I didn't want to be a buffoon again.

It took three dates for me to get a tight lipped little peck; that kiss was as satisfying as being kissed by your sister. I knew I had to bridle my passions, but she was so terribly inviting. After a half dozen dates, I began to wonder if she would ever let her hair down. I was afraid to overplay my hand, but I couldn't wait anymore. I planted up passionate kiss on her neck, and my tongue teased her soft flesh. She immediately pulled back and told me that she wasn't that kind of girl.

After that, she wouldn't return my calls, and I became invisible again. I heard from our mutual friend that she was dating some other guy. I moped around with a broken heart. None of the other girls I took out filled the void. For more than a month, I agonized over losing her.

I was confronted in the hall by the other guy; he had an evil look in his eye. I thought I was destined to duke it out with him, and I didn't have the foggiest reason why. His surly look suddenly changed to one of desperation. He
clasped his hands together and begged me to take her back.


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Mike Berger is an MFA, PhD. He writes poetry and short stories full time
He has been writing poetry for less than four years. His work appear in seventy-one journals. He has published two books of short stories and eight poetry chapbooks .He is a member of The Academy of American Poets.