I DO NOT CARE
one of one.
I don’t know why I do it, to be honest with you. It can be because I’m not really one for thinking before I act, or some other stupid reason that I just haven’t thought of. There are plenty of things that I don’t know, you see, and all I’m really aware of is that I do what I want, how I want, and when I want. You must remember that.
It’s cold out, very, very cold. I’m not very sure what it is about this skating rink in particular that’s so…chilly. There’s another skating rink on the other side of town, and it’s nowhere near as frostbite-inducing as the one that I’m at right now. The snow is all over, and I see nothing but white as the wind bites at my face. I don’t really like the winter—it’s a very uncomfortable season, if you ask me.
But that’s an entirely different story.
The very first time I see her, she doesn’t really stand out to me. I mean, she’s a girl, and there are plenty of those. Upon second glance, though, I realize that she’s actually quite cute. Her hair stops at her shoulders, is pin-straight, platinum blonde and whipping all around her face, since the wind is particularly brutal tonight. Her skin is flushed and her face is round, maybe even a bit babyish. She’s fairly tall, too, and her legs are nice, though she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl that you can just walk up to and tell that.
And so, I skate up to her instead, and when she’s close enough, my arm is snaking around her midsection. She’s so close that I can see her breath vaporize into the nearby air from her small mouth.
The words are coming out of my mouth before I can really do anything about it. “Mind if I skate with you?”
Initially, she looks taken aback. Oh, man, so taken aback. Then her eyes are going all over my face, and she’s smiling, and she lets me hold her hand, and I put my fingers in between hers. Even though I have gloves on—they’re the same color as cherries—I can feel that her hands are just as cold as mine through her own gloves. Hers are moss green and have snowflakes on them.
She laughs, putting her free hand over her mouth, and I laugh with her. As far as I’m concerned, the only reason I’m laughing and skating and watching everything and everyone around us with her is because I want to.
Like how I throw snow at her, because I want to. And like how I brush it off of her shoulder—she’s very still when I do that, by the way—because I want to. And like how I glance over at her and tell her, “We’d better start home,” because I want to.
Besides, it’s not like she objects.
“Black ones,” she tells me when I offer to get her shoes for her; she was describing them for me. “Same size as Garbo’s.” She giggles again. I undo her skates, and I try to be quick about it when I take them off and slide on her shoes, tying and knotting them as tight as I can. I throw her skates over my shoulder, take her hand, and smile down at her. My voice is quiet—so quiet
that I almost sound tired, which I am—as I ask her questions to fill the silence, and also, of course, because I want to. What she likes and what she plans on doing and all those silly little things.
We’re at her doorstep when I realize that it’s gotten darker, and that it’s colder, and the snow is more irritating than before as it comes down harder. I smile at her again, put her skates over her shoulder. My face is close to her face, so close that I can smell her—she smells like soap—and I can feel her breath brush up against my chin.
Even before I say it, I instantly know it is falsehood. “Good night now. I’ll call you.”
It isn’t the first lie I’ve ever told, and it most certainly isn’t the last. I begin to whistle as I walk the opposite way, back towards town. Again, I don’t know why I did it; all I know is that I did. Now, I know that isn’t necessarily right, by all means, but I think it’s good to not be afraid to do whatever you please, whenever you please. Sure, I feel a bit bad, now that I’m walking away, but that’s okay, because chances are, I won’t ever see her again and she won’t ever see me, and she’ll get over it eventually, if she’s ever not over it to begin with.
In hindsight, though, I think she should’ve known better, considering that I didn’t even get her number.
It’s cold out, very, very cold. I’m not very sure what it is about this skating rink in particular that’s so…chilly. There’s another skating rink on the other side of town, and it’s nowhere near as frostbite-inducing as the one that I’m at right now. The snow is all over, and I see nothing but white as the wind bites at my face. I don’t really like the winter—it’s a very uncomfortable season, if you ask me.
But that’s an entirely different story.
The very first time I see her, she doesn’t really stand out to me. I mean, she’s a girl, and there are plenty of those. Upon second glance, though, I realize that she’s actually quite cute. Her hair stops at her shoulders, is pin-straight, platinum blonde and whipping all around her face, since the wind is particularly brutal tonight. Her skin is flushed and her face is round, maybe even a bit babyish. She’s fairly tall, too, and her legs are nice, though she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl that you can just walk up to and tell that.
And so, I skate up to her instead, and when she’s close enough, my arm is snaking around her midsection. She’s so close that I can see her breath vaporize into the nearby air from her small mouth.
The words are coming out of my mouth before I can really do anything about it. “Mind if I skate with you?”
Initially, she looks taken aback. Oh, man, so taken aback. Then her eyes are going all over my face, and she’s smiling, and she lets me hold her hand, and I put my fingers in between hers. Even though I have gloves on—they’re the same color as cherries—I can feel that her hands are just as cold as mine through her own gloves. Hers are moss green and have snowflakes on them.
She laughs, putting her free hand over her mouth, and I laugh with her. As far as I’m concerned, the only reason I’m laughing and skating and watching everything and everyone around us with her is because I want to.
Like how I throw snow at her, because I want to. And like how I brush it off of her shoulder—she’s very still when I do that, by the way—because I want to. And like how I glance over at her and tell her, “We’d better start home,” because I want to.
Besides, it’s not like she objects.
“Black ones,” she tells me when I offer to get her shoes for her; she was describing them for me. “Same size as Garbo’s.” She giggles again. I undo her skates, and I try to be quick about it when I take them off and slide on her shoes, tying and knotting them as tight as I can. I throw her skates over my shoulder, take her hand, and smile down at her. My voice is quiet—so quiet
that I almost sound tired, which I am—as I ask her questions to fill the silence, and also, of course, because I want to. What she likes and what she plans on doing and all those silly little things.
We’re at her doorstep when I realize that it’s gotten darker, and that it’s colder, and the snow is more irritating than before as it comes down harder. I smile at her again, put her skates over her shoulder. My face is close to her face, so close that I can smell her—she smells like soap—and I can feel her breath brush up against my chin.
Even before I say it, I instantly know it is falsehood. “Good night now. I’ll call you.”
It isn’t the first lie I’ve ever told, and it most certainly isn’t the last. I begin to whistle as I walk the opposite way, back towards town. Again, I don’t know why I did it; all I know is that I did. Now, I know that isn’t necessarily right, by all means, but I think it’s good to not be afraid to do whatever you please, whenever you please. Sure, I feel a bit bad, now that I’m walking away, but that’s okay, because chances are, I won’t ever see her again and she won’t ever see me, and she’ll get over it eventually, if she’s ever not over it to begin with.
In hindsight, though, I think she should’ve known better, considering that I didn’t even get her number.
♠ ♠ ♠
This was something to play with, so I just thought, "huh, why not post it as a one-shot." Like I said before, I do not own the original short story, only what is above.Thoughts?