There's always him

May 16, 2011
By Krissie202 BRONZE, Peachtree City, Georgia
Krissie202 BRONZE, Peachtree City, Georgia
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn't we? ~Terri Guillemets

I hate this town. I hate the rain, I hate the mountains that cloud any hope of civilization, and I hate the people.
Are there really any cute, nice guys to date?
Yeah, there was one. He had brown short hair, dark chocolate brown eyes, and he was a football player.
He was the only one that didn't wear a racing hat and shoes. He was the only one that I knew that didn't spill tomato soup of a girl because he thought it was funny.
I didn't have a chance with a guy like that. He was the only one I knew that didn't act like a little mini red neck that this town is full of.
I should have figured that he didn't like me. But I had to tell him. Not to his face, of course. I just had to tell a girl that I had no idea had a crush on him. She told him, in front of everybody.
And the way he said nothing but just glanced at me like, "Wow, she likes me?" not in a good way, though.
In the kind of way that was like, "Oh God, she likes me."
My insides and outsides burned with humiliation. I should have figured. After six years of hard crushing, there was never going to be an "us".
No, he just had to ask a cheerleader out that day.
Don't get me wrong, it made total sense. He was a football player and she was cheerleader. Blond, fake tan, and white-stripped teeth. She was fake like all the girls in my town. I was the only one that didn't fall prey to laying in toxic tanning beds and I, at least, saw the danger of dying hair. Why would I want to, anyways?
Maybe I should, to make a statement. I should dye my you-can't-get-this-color-out-of-a-bottle-and-all red hair. Maybe I should lay in that tanning booth and come down with cancer at the age of fifteen. Maybe I should whiten my teeth to make them blinding.
Maybe I should do it to show him that I can be just as fake as they can.
But maybe that's what makes me confident that I can reach beyond these mountains and get out of here. I'm not fake, I loathed the fakers in my town.
So what's keeping me here? What's trapping me here instead of the suffocating mountains and the depressing weather?
It was him. It was the hope I was filled with every time I saw him play basketball with children, or his impulsive nature to help people.
I knew I didn't have a chance, though. The girls start early here. Around sixth grade, they start sniffing out their husbands. They'll marry in eleventh grade at the latest, and have a little of children by twelfth grade, and maybe they'll be able to move out of their parent's basements into a nice, trashy trailer.
I kind of feel sorry for him, actually. They will tear him apart. He's better than that. Maybe by a little, though.
He'll go to college and then come back here and live here for the rest of his life.
Not me. I have my life planned, and the idea of coming back here disgusts me. They actually pay people to open up businesses here. It's pitiful.
I ask myself when I'll ever see him again. I'll be going to a new High School here soon.
I wonder if he'll ever talk to me when he sees me.
I think I have come to the conclusion that God hates me. Why is that I can't seem to find a guy nice and cute enough to date?
Every guy down here cares about nothing but sleeping around. Even in fourth grade they go around flaunting their taken gifts.
"I lost mine when I went to Florida for a week."
"Oh, well, I lost mine to hula girl."
I found one flaw in those stories. They've probably don't even know what a beach looks like.
Then I've come to another conclusion. After six years of waiting, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of waiting for him to see me truly. To finally realize that I'm a better option for him than any of those fake whores.
When will that come?
I can't wait forever, but there will always be him.

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