introducing simonPosted: May 3, 2009
“Alright, take me through it, then.” Robin says, after a drag from the last menthol cigarette she had. The ashes fell haphazardly onto the pavement, avoiding a glass ashtray at all costs. It is a warm May night, a Thursday, or perhaps, a Friday. A neon light buzzed in the background, casting a purple and white tint over her clothes, a black t-shirt emblazoned with yellow petals, draped over worn gray jeans, worn by the ravages of a machine tearing them for the sake of style.
“Take you through what?” Simon replied, cradling his own arms, rubbing them occasionally, though they weren’t cold.
“What you’re gonna say to her, obviously.”
“Well, I know I’ll say hello, or some variant of it. That’s a given. Other than that, well, I’m not so sure.” They were referring to someone that was currently behind the glass doors that held the innards of a cafe, someone who Simon noticed from across the room, only for him to become positively enthralled by her visage. She was sitting alone, inside a worn green booth, her canvas messenger bag, worn by the ravages of what one could only assume life and time, sitting beside her. She was scribbling in a Moleskine notebook with her left hand, cradling a lukewarm brew with her other. Robin, sensing Simon’s obvious ignoring of herself in favor of a stranger, brought him outside to discuss the matter.
“You’re kidding.” “You preach honesty and all that bullshit to me and yet you can’t use that philosophy yourself?”
“Well, you are a girl, which makes shit way more easier.” Simon retorted, avoiding the question.
“Bullshit.” Robin takes another drag and exhales, watching the smoke trail into the darkness of nine o’ clock. “Listen to me. Say what’s on your mind! Present yourself in the most honest light possible because that’s what you think people dig. Authenticity and all that!” She grabs Simon’s shoulders, somewhat agressively moving him so that they were looking at each other. Simon averted her gaze. “Alright, now, roleplaying time. Look at me. I’m her. Hi, I’m all sexy-like and the object of your affections, what did you want to tell me?”
Simon takes a breath, in an ill-fated attempt to calm his nerves. He speaks, “I’m a paranoid, neurotic, apathetic, no-good excuse of a man, I rarely take initiative so I’m telling you right now that this is a damn miracle that I can even begin to speak to you coherently, I’m paralyzed by just how beautiful you are, my mind goes blank every so often so that means I’m a horrible conversationalist and will often just sit there and stare at you and come off as a creepo when I really just can’t think of anything to say. I’m a horrible first impression, I stumble over my words when I’m trying to say something even marginally important so if we ever get to the point where we’re quote-unquote serious I would both be a mushmouth and an eloquent sonofabitch because dammit, I can use words but they just don’t come out right. I’m horrible at showing affection because I find damn near everything that has do with affection to be awkward as shit, and mark my words, I will never, never maintain eye contact for more than thirty seconds because I’m going to be one of the most socially inept people I hope you’ll get to know.” He clears his throat. “I think you should know that up front because then I’d only disappoint you if I show you only the best sides of me, mind you there aren’t many, but I really don’t think that I can be that somewhat affable person that I try to usually be, though that doesnt always work out as it should.”
“Goddamn, Simon! Trying to tell me something, here? Get something off your chest? Jesus!” Robin replies, baffled, after a minute-long silence.
“Tone it down a little?” Simon inquires, genuinely confused.
“What the fuck was that?”
“I’m guessing that’s a yes.” Simon retreats back into the cafe and places himself inside a worn green booth, with the reckless abandon of someone who was in dire need of…