I leaned against the refrigerator, my eyes staring at the center of the room. The lights were off. In the middle of the living room my friends danced in the dark on top of two wooden coffee tables. I was actually kind of jealous. The music bounced off the walls and everyone who surrounded me were lost in their movements, and I stood deafeningly still, statuesque even. I would’ve been mistaken as any other guy, shy of his wits, afraid of women, and unable to open up. I didn’t want to be that guy, the so called wall flower. But, as I stood wondering inclusively, the truth was that that guy and I, were the exact same person. Lost.
Ever since I could remember being social, I was always somewhat flirtatious. My friends hated me for it. More exact, my socially challenged friends hated me for it. Just the way I presented myself openly, the updraft of comfort, the easily drawn out sexual undertones; my guy friends hated it, they would stand idly by watching me talk. It wasn’t always like that. There was a time where no one could get any two words out of me, much less a conversation. However, once I was able to open up, laugh, and pry into a deeper meaning with most people I met, I found an inevitable charm. Since then, I never looked back onto my more proper and less boisterous, silent ways.
I never thought having a girlfriend would change that.
Innocent touches, flirtatious spells, and confident glares across the room starts to become an addiction. It’s as if everyone just started passing around dishes of your favorite slice of pie to constantly remind you that you shouldn’t have any, or even be there. I always thought my ability to talk to women carelessly was something of power. It is, practically, something that most men want to have but somehow don’t understand. It’s almost supernatural. It leaves people thinking, “maybe he’s just born with it?” It’s as if it’s that unrealistic. However, it only takes standing in a room full of people to find out who you really are. Having a girlfriend in a crowded area leaves me being socially awkward, and, most tantalizingly, powerless.
By midnight, after taking several senseless laps around the party, I found myself rewiring my mindset, reflecting on who I am, and rebooting my happiness, thinking of ways to find a balance with my thoughts and trying to find a peace that I really needed. I went over every way I use to meet women at parties. I needed a place where I could continue to be conscious of where I was, yet still continuing to stay morally obligated. I wasn’t single, but I wasn’t a loser either. I looked at my friends and felt a genuine honesty with myself. I started letting go of the idea that everything I did was to impress every woman that surrounded me.
Finally, I took my friend’s happy outstretched hand as I was lifted up onto the living room table.
As the party dissipated like a smokey substance released into the sky, I found myself sitting next to a girl who earlier was talking about linear algebraic equations. Nerds, I somehow always find myself next to them. We chatted lightly until she commented on my arms.
“I don’t like big arms, you’re muscly arms just make me want to vomit,” she said flirtatiously.
It lifted my spirits. I pulled my arm through her hair and across her shoulders to give her a light hug. She leaned her head in, moving her body closer into mine, her dark maroon colored hairs softly touching the skin on my neck.
“Sorry,” I said pulling my arm away from her, “You can’t do that, I have a girlfriend.”
I could feel her closeness turning into a nervous awkwardness as she lifted away from me. She smiled politely.
“Oh,” she said, “I figured.”