What was supposed to be “just a moment” was turning into eternity. She told me to make myself comfortable, but the numbness circulating through my thighs and ass was evolving into insensitivity. Sitting becoming unbearable, my legs catapulted me up. In front of the couch I stood and stretched in an attempt to ease the lingering soreness. It didn’t help. This was my first time at her house, yet wallowing in my boredom, I didn’t even think to look around the room. A multitude of fashion and other girl type magazines piled on the café table. Pictures of her family, friends, and herself rested over the fireplace in a typical display. As I closed in on the small smiling figures, a familiar face popped out in an unusual surrounding. The picture was of a girl whose short brown hair was barely visible, hiding under a baseball helmet. The photographer captured the exact moment the swinging bat hit the flying ball. The girl’s face wasn’t plain or pretty, and possessed a crooked smile that stood out amidst the formal ones in the other photos.
“No! Don‘t look!” The girl in the picture frame was suddenly taken away by a hand with red painted nails. I looked over my shoulder to see that someone was finally ready. The girl that finally appeared hid the picture behind her back. Her makeup-ed features were churned with expressed humiliation, but in an understated rearrangement that looked like she was holding back.
“Why?” I asked in the same breath of a chuckle, a little annoyance carried in my voice.
“I don‘t look like myself in this picture...”
I was about to comment on the irony in her words, but instead became dumbstruck. I could swear I just saw the clothes she was wearing. It took me a second to realize her outfit looked like a replica of one of the pieces worn on one of the magazine covers lying on her table. I let out a sigh that was trying to escape, and commented, “Why do girls care so much about appearance?” She put the picture back where it was, but placed it facing down. Her now long and blonde stained hair faced me. She turned to me with a flirty look, “Because they want to look good for the guy they like.” This affectionate comment didn’t faze me at all. I ignored it and walked back to the sofa to sit down.
Two months ago she had asked me out and I really just said yes on a whim. But now I regretted it. She was one of the pretty ones in our group, and popular with the other guys. It was because she had this selfless and perfect presence about her, but getting to know her I learned it was because she lacked confidence. The confidence she tried to wear was fake. Everything about her was fake. I had decided that I would try to make use of this relationship and boost her confidence, but nothing. No changes were being made, in fact, her lack of confidence seemed to be getting worse with every date we went on. Still, I was going to keep trying.
She took my lead and took the couch cushion next to me.
"So, how can you say you don’t look like yourself in that picture?" I asked curiously.
At first she lightly raised an eyebrow, but then smiled, “Hmm, well one, I was such a tomboy back then.”
"So, you're not like that anymore?" I tilted my head a little bit, "What made you decide to change?" I added as I leaned back, hoping to find out more.
Her smile became even more forced looking, her eyes drifted a little, “Isn’t it normal to change as you grow up? I mean... you know, that picture was taken awhile back. I didn’t so much change, it was just, life, growing up… When you’re a kid, you just, you don’t know yourself yet, ” She was starting to mumble on like she had been put on the spot.
I thought about what she said for a moment, then sighed “Right.” I think she still didn’t understand herself yet. “So, then, what happened to baseball. In the picture you’re wearing a uniform, right? Grew out of it?”
“More of a tomboy back then,” she shrugged.
“But are you still a little of a tomboy now? Doesn’t mean you don’t like it anymore.“It’s… not so much I don’t like it anymore, just,” her fingers went to her lips as she smiled a little embarrassingly, “Use to give me sturdier legs.”
“… What?”
“You know, when girls take certain sports seriously, they get that, not very appealing, athletic look,” she stretched out her legs and raised them off the ground a little so they were in view, “Remember your friends joked about it just the other day? When they came across that female basketball game on TV.”
I responded with silence, the slit between my lips widening a little. I had never heard a girl agree to that, let alone say it. The guy was supposed to say that, and then any girls in hearing view would whine in retaliation. It coming from a female medium made it sound completely different.
Suddenly her skin turned transparent and I realized the problem was deeper than I thought. She wasn’t just wearing a mask, underneath she was hollow. She disliked herself that much. And now I realized why her insides were darkening. It was me. I was the one being shallow. I had been giving her act an encore. I didn’t like her, I only agreed to go out with her cause of her status. I didn’t even know her. All I really knew was that she use to like baseball. Any compliments I had given her went to the character she was playing. And she probably didn’t like me either. She was being a typical dumb girl, in love with love. She just wanted the affection of a guy to give herself a self-esteem booster.
She wanted confidence, but she was going about it wrong. She was making a mistake. If she didn’t change, she’d never have another goofy, messed up smile like the one currently faced down on the fire place. Now I understood how I could help her.
“Christine. I think, I‘m breaking up with you.”
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