📷 Photograph by Adrian McDonald Photography
“So, then, what are you?” “Because you don’t agree when I say that you are beautiful, intelligent and kind and…”
“Tough” I chipped in.
“Hahaha,” we both laughed.
“Tough, yes…” He said, almost dreamily, the last bits of “yes” trailing off silently and fading far into the cool night that surrounded us.
He stared at me, brow creased, and eyes narrowed before tilting his head as if to rearrange the thoughts in his mind that had somehow got displaced. To me, he looked as if he was doing some kind of mental study of a subject that was all at once mathematics, literature and chemistry. He made no show of trying to hide the fact that he was truly trying to figure me out.
“Alright, you tell me” he said.
I reached for the lighter on the table, and struck it at the end of the cigarette I had been twirling in my thumbs the entire time. I sucked at it, and exhaled deeply, throwing a tiny billowy cloud into the darkness. The smoke went up in style like what I imagined the cross between an Arabian belly dancer and a wicked poll dancer would look like.
“Well,” I said, “I smoke weed, I love sex and I go to church. So for one, I am a contradiction”
“I beg your pardon?” He asked, incredulously
“Secondly, I am a rebel,” I continued.
“A rebel…”
“Yes, a rebel…or an outcast, or an an outlier, whatever. You know the bell curve?”
“The bell curve…yes…”
“Good. So on the bell curve, there’s the middle part where the majority of the population falls and then,” I inhaled deeply on the cigarette. “There’s the two ends of it where I find that I normally fall. The outliers.”
I crushed the burning head of the cigarette between my thumb and the table and dumped it in a bin close by. The aim was so perfect, even I was inwardly pleased with myself.
Silence.
I did not even bother to look at him to gleen anything from his face and quite honestly, I did not care. I had lived and loved naively long enough to know that most people care first and foremost about their own interests. I was being deliberate and brutal. I had my own interests and in pursuing them, I was relentless and unforgiving.
“Look, I really don’t like you,” I said, looking him right in the eyes.
“Wait, what?” He asked, slightly shocked.
“I. Don’t. Like. You,” I repeated, slowly and articulately, mulling over every individual word before I picked up the pace again. “It’s the power I have over men like you, that I like. You don’t love me, and you know it. But you will not respectfully stay away. You decide instead to lay the burdens of your supposed affection on me.”
I rubbed my hands together and placed my elbows on the table, my fingers interlocked and my chin rested on them. I stared at him. I felt a rage rising from the pits of my stomach. It made me angry, because I was right.
“So, then, what are you?” “Because you don’t agree when I say that you are beautiful, intelligent and kind and…”
“Tough” I chipped in.
“Hahaha,” we both laughed.
“Tough, yes…” He said, almost dreamily, the last bits of “yes” trailing off silently and fading far into the cool night that surrounded us.
He stared at me, brow creased, and eyes narrowed before tilting his head as if to rearrange the thoughts in his mind that had somehow got displaced. To me, he looked as if he was doing some kind of mental study of a subject that was all at once mathematics, literature and chemistry. He made no show of trying to hide the fact that he was truly trying to figure me out.
“Alright, you tell me” he said.
I reached for the lighter on the table, and struck it at the end of the cigarette I had been twirling in my thumbs the entire time. I sucked at it, and exhaled deeply, throwing a tiny billowy cloud into the darkness. The smoke went up in style like what I imagined the cross between an Arabian belly dancer and a wicked poll dancer would look like.
“Well,” I said, “I smoke weed, I love sex and I go to church. So for one, I am a contradiction”
“I beg your pardon?” He asked, incredulously
“Secondly, I am a rebel,” I continued.
“A rebel…”
“Yes, a rebel…or an outcast, or an an outlier, whatever. You know the bell curve?”
“The bell curve…yes…”
“Good. So on the bell curve, there’s the middle part where the majority of the population falls and then,” I inhaled deeply on the cigarette. “There’s the two ends of it where I find that I normally fall. The outliers.”
I crushed the burning head of the cigarette between my thumb and the table and dumped it in a bin close by. The aim was so perfect, even I was inwardly pleased with myself.
Silence.
I did not even bother to look at him to gleen anything from his face and quite honestly, I did not care. I had lived and loved naively long enough to know that most people care first and foremost about their own interests. I was being deliberate and brutal. I had my own interests and in pursuing them, I was relentless and unforgiving.
“Look, I really don’t like you,” I said, looking him right in the eyes.
“Wait, what?” He asked, slightly shocked.
“I. Don’t. Like. You,” I repeated, slowly and articulately, mulling over every individual word before I picked up the pace again. “It’s the power I have over men like you, that I like. You don’t love me, and you know it. But you will not respectfully stay away. You decide instead to lay the burdens of your supposed affection on me.”
I rubbed my hands together and placed my elbows on the table, my fingers interlocked and my chin rested on them. I stared at him. I felt a rage rising from the pits of my stomach. It made me angry, because I was right.
2 thoughts on “Outliers, Fringes, smoke.”
Ann… ❤️
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