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My Name Isn't Molly
You stood outside my window Friday night, waiting there instead of being at the party at the popular kid’s house, as I thought you would. You were always going to those parties and such, a new girl on your arm every other day. You treated them well for a while, told them you loved them, and then BAM: the next day, they came to school with red rimmed eyes and no you in sight.
P-L-A-Y-E-R is what you are. Always have been, always will be. But hey, that’s how some guys are just programmed right?
You threw stones against the glass. I was surprised that you didn’t break the windows, but I guess you knew that if they shattered, you’d be in big trouble.
Ha. You were worried about shattering glass, but you were okay with shattering hearts.
I ignored you for a while, having to resort to putting my headphones in and blasting music so loud my eardrums almost popped. You gave up with the stones, and yelled my name for a bit. Angrily, I set down my headphones, went over to the window and I opened it. I told you to shut up, that you were going to wake my parents up. He said he didn’t care, that all he wanted was to talk to me. I laughed bitterly, and shook my head. I told you no way, and I slammed the window, drawing the lacy blue curtains tightly across so I didn’t have to see your face.
Your handsome, angelic face that I knew hid the ugly inside.
I crossed my arms and sat on my bed, wondering whether I should take my Nerf gun and just shoot you with it until you gave up and left. I decided not to. I could have been held in court for it. But that was the girl I was. I wasn’t going to take your crap.
You knew, I knew, the entire population of our high school knew, that all you wanted out of girls was a temporary thrill, and the satisfaction of a conquest. No girl had ever dared refuse you, and that just built up your ego, didn’t it?
I must have REALLY been tearing it to the ground.
Serves you right. I wasn’t just a piece of eye candy to showcase on your arm like the newest book bag, or tattoo, or car keys. I’m a PERSON. I know. It’s hard to believe. We people of earth aren’t just little playthings to use and discard at whim. It’s very sad if that shocked you.
So I wasn’t going to let you have me. Nuh uh. Never in a million years. You didn’t deserve me, and you are never going to.
Eventually I heard a creak in the tree in my backyard. I froze. You weren’t seriously going to climb it were you? But you did. You landed on the terrace outside my parent’s room, and you determinedly made your way over to mine. My jaw must have hit the ground in disbelief. Who did you think that you were? Of all the egotistical, big headed, testosterone blinded-
You called to me and you jumped onto my window sill, dangling precariously by your fingertips. I ran over, alarmed. Even if I hated you, I didn’t want you to DIE…. Well, at least, mostly.
I asked you what the heck you thought that you were doing, and you didn’t respond; instead, you hoisted yourself up and stood on the sill, clinging to the glass, fogging up the clear substance with your warm, panting breath. You pressed your face desperately against it, and you pleaded at me to just give you another chance.
After what happened last time? Hell will freeze over before that happens!
You snared me in. You almost got me to fall for you, that summer. Then I caught you in a closet with some girl you knew for all of ten minutes. I told myself I’d never fall for your charms again, and you know what? I DIDN’T.
What did you think that you were pulling? We weren’t in some old eighty’s movie! What was going through your thick skulled head, honestly? Wait, no: Don’t answer that question. I know exactly what was going through your head. NOTHING. Maybe a cackling monkey slamming things together?
I hit the window, hard, with my fist, and you stumbled, nearly falling, and believe me, I didn’t miss that look of hurt that you shot me. I saw it… Ah, but who cared if I hurt YOU. You made your sorry way back to the terrace and made the slow way back to the ground through the tree.
Believe me, I thought you had given up, and were done. But nope. No such luck. You know what you did? (Well, actually, you DO know what you did, but that’s besides the point.) You disappeared into the bushes, and fumbled around in the scratchy green for a moment or two. You came out, and you were holding out of all things, a boom box. You turned the dial to some specific track, and hit play, a smug expression on that perfect face.
Oh dear Lord. You were playing that old Breakfast Club song, the one that we listened to almost everyday that summer after you introduced me to the movie. Annoyance filled me to my very being as you played it. You really thought that jogging those old memories were really going to help you, at all? I see we aren’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box…
You put the boom box above your head, and turned up the volume. You flashed me the ‘Rock On’ sign with your left hand, and you laughed.
But you know what? My name isn’t Molly Ringwald. I don’t fall for that crap! I did once, and that taught me a lesson the hard way. So whatever silk you wove into your voice, whatever lies you laced your words with, I saw through them. They were so thin; it was like looking through gossamer.
It wasn’t going to work, because my name isn’t Molly.