...As I made my way back to my apartment, I kept thinking about Jamie. Not the sex, actually, but that last kiss. And that first kiss, too, I suppose...
Neither kiss was captured on film, but Jamie didn't seem to care. On one hand, there was Anne, who flat-out rejected my kiss and wouldn't even make eye contact with me... ...on the other hand, there was Jamie, who kissed ME twice of her own volition.
I thought to myself, "That's the difference between a type-A lesbian and a type-B lesbian." Of course, seeing as how Jamie dumped Anne for a guy, who knows if Jamie were really a lesbian anyway? Lesbian, bi-sexual, bi-curious, confused... who knew?
I got to my apartment, threw my stuff aside, and took a look at my camera. A "paltry" 60 photos of Jamie and I compared to the 120 I'd taken with Anne.
I decided to get to the university early tomorrow morning to develop the photos versus waiting until tomorrow night. Something inside of me wanted to get those photos to Anne right away.
As planned, I got to the darkroom at about 6am the following morning and developed all 60 photos. I finished the set just as other students started making their way into the darkroom. I checked the bins to ensure I didn't miss anything, grabbed my bag, and left.
I thought about how things would pan out all day... I had it all pictured in my mind. I wanted to walk up to Anne's desk in the middle of class, drop the stack of photos onto her desk, and just watch her reaction. "She's gonna be devastated!" I thought to myself.
After a few agonizing hours, photography class eventually rolled around, and I waited on the opposite side of the hall for Anne to enter. After Anne sat down, I went in and took my seat.
About halfway through the class, I picked up my bag and put it on my desk. Several times, I reached into my bag and grabbed the stack of photos, but I couldn't bring myself to give them to Anne. After about five or six "false starts", I pushed my bag off the desk onto the floor and just sat there staring into the corner of the ceiling for the remainder of class.
Photography class had come and gone, and Anne was none-the-wiser. No photos dropped onto her desk. No enraged reaction. No sense of revenge. No feeling of devastation. Nothing. I stood outside the classroom for a minute wondering what the hell just happened. "What is wrong with me?" I thought to myself.
Jamie found me later that afternoon by my locker as I was getting ready to leave.
"So?! What happened?!?!"
"I couldn't do it," I told her.
"You couldn't do it?! You couldn't do what?"
"I couldn't give those pictures to Anne."
"What?! Why not?!?!"
I told Jamie the story of Anne and her first-and-only boyfriend. I was surprised to find out that Jamie hadn't heard it.
"I can't be one of those guys."
"What guys?"
"I can't be one of those guys that she uses as her reason for hating every other guy on the planet. I know she used me, but doing this isn't going to make anything any better for anyone...
...at one point, you had feelings for her, and she obviously had or still has feelings for you. I'm not going to let myself get stuck in the middle of all of this. It's just not right."
Jamie stood there for almost a minute, silent.
"I understand," she said.
I opened my bag, took out the stack of photos we'd taken, and handed them to Jamie. She put the photos into her own bag.
She leaned forward to kiss me on the cheek, and I stopped her. "Don't do that -- -- Anne was right: I'm just `some guy`."
Jamie stood there, silent.
"Well, then, see ya..." she concluded.
"Yeah... see ya...", I agreed, to which Jamie walked away.
I finished up at my locker and left the building.
Surprisingly, as I sat in my apartment that evening drinking my beer, I didn't think much about the day's events. I was just glad everything was over.
The following morning, I arrived at my locker to find several Post-It notes stuck to my locker door. "God, not again," I said out loud.
The notes were from Jamie. She indicated that she was back with Anne and thanked me for not being "one of those guys" that I referred to.
When all was said and done, neither Anne nor Jamie ever said anything to me again. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing... ...a good thing, I guess.
I still had 180 negatives as a memory of my twisted sexual tirade with the two art school lesbians. I even spent a few long nights in the darkroom re-developing every photo. In fact, I made two copies of each.
I kept one set of photos for myself, of course. The other set, I stuffed into a manila envelope and gave to "Old Harold" as a thank you for cleaning up the fries I left all over the darkroom... and God knows what else.
|
Submitted by:
pure_stamina
view profile
|
You have new unread mail messages!
Click here for your Inbox!
