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TYPE OH HELL NEGATIVE |
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By Matthew Craig |
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I saw Clare Phillips today. This was a girl who came into our sixth-form from another school. I could never work out why anyone would want to come to our school sixth form in particular, but I was usually glad they did. |
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Everyone was glad that Clare Phillips came to our school. She was gorgeous. Maura Tierney gorgeous. Not Grace from Will and Grace gorgeous (booya), but still...I'll shut up. |
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She looked like she'd filled out a little (very little; she's still slim. To compare: it's been eight years since I've seen her, and in that time, I've put on a net total of four and a bit stone, or...um...carry the two...sixty pounds).
She was wearing a suit (note to self: do not attempt to do a weeks shopping in the Asda next to the sixteen-thousand-worker strong office complex in the middle of the fucking lunch hour), and had let her hair grow out, which I approve of greatly: I like long hair on women. |
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Debra Messing.
I could get her phone humber in ten seconds flat. |
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Maura Tierney. *sigh* |
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And something occurred to me. I had spotted someone who was my "type." |
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I'd fancied most of the girls in my sixth form at one time or another. Clare was one of the prettier ones, I suppose, even if I'd only really fancied her in a passing, ephemeral way (there was the lovely Anne-Sophie for me to really fall for...sigh).
But not only that. |
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It seems, on reflection, that she was the first in a line. A line of largely similar women who I wasn't gong to go out with, but I was going to have a big, big torch for. |
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And the secret, my friends...the secret was in her eyes... |
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Clare had chestnut hair and dark, dark eyes. And there was the thing. There was something unknowable in those eyes. Something mysterious. |
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And like all good detectives, I love mysteries. |
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But I never did anything about it. She was a bit out of my 17-year (Jesus, nine years ago) old league. |
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But it was sure nice to see her today. |
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There were a couple of other girls who fit that description. One, I met at university.
This girl, and I'm (Fucking Word wants me to write "I are" like some sort of cartoon baboon) naming no more names, had the same chestnut hair and the same dark eyes (and a great ass, in case you were wondering if I was ever gonna be lecherous again).
But where Clare had something mysterious in her eyes, this second girl always looked, well...troubled is the word I would use. |
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Yes, yes, I know. Knight in Tarnished Armour Sense Tingling! |
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Look. It wasn't just that I thought she was needy. She did have a great ass, too. Really. Quite superb. And her legs...oh, alright. Alright. I'm pathetic. |
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Understand: this girl had almost no friends in our lodgings. No real friends. Most of the girls I spoke to who hung out with her moaned about her. And the friends she did talk about all seemed to be quite troubled too. |
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This woman hid (hid!) in our hall of residence for six weeks after term ended, because she had no money. I don't know what she was spending it on. Even my comic habit wasn't crippling me that much. |
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The last time I saw her, and I thought a lot about her after that, she came to my palatial bachelor apartment (seriously: biggest room I've ever had, and I got it for free - for no discernible reason - for twelve weeks), looked concerned about something, and asked me if I had any money. |
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This was the first time in a year that she came anywhere near my student bedroom, mark you. |
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A year. |
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I often wondered why she had that haunted look in her eyes. I often wondered where that road might have taken her. |
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It took her to Leicester. |
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On my first day at Leicester University, some three years later, there she was. Somehow, she'd ended up there. I saw her at the end of my first day, when I was tired of queues, tired of induction, tired of being tired. She pushed past me, nearly bowled me over in fact, as I entered one of the registration buildings. |
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And she looked really happy. |
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Turned out she was a student in my Faculty. In my building, no less. And she even had pals. I chatted up a girl in the diner by my lab who shared a house with her. |
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We passed each other a few times during my year in Leicester, but never spoke. She recognized me once, after I had removed the Redbeard (see my profile page), and I think she was a bit shocked. She didn't remember me, her friend had said. Which is fair enough. I mean, to her I was just the odd fellow down the hall who would disappear for weeks at a time to go off to exotic places (Sheffield). |
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But to me, she was a crush. And a maybe. And, yes, a damsel in (imagined) distress. |
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And we tarnished knights have memories like a dragon's neck. |
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Long and scaly. |
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The third and most recent girl, I think I'll save for a future tale. She was the prettiest, and it took me two years to get up the courage to talk to her. |
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And I sabotaged it in spectacular fashion. |
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So, what can we conclude from all this? |
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I like dark hair, dark eyes, and arse.
I like mysterious women and needy women.
I have a vivid imagination and a sponge-like memory.
I should write for Mills and Boon |
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Or maybe not. |
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Matthew Craig, 6th August...sigh... |
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