The blue eyed girl
My first real girl friend.
It was the first year of art school. I was happy to have flown the confines of my family. Free at last, free at last. I was happy and I showed it. Then I met her, a fellow class mate, and we clicked for the year. She was from Dallas, Texas, and was a real blond with real blue eyes. She was cute as a bug’s ear. Soft spoken. And she was mine - for awhile - or so I thought.
In junior high, in Florida, I had a girl friend. And she was a honey blond, with a winning smile. A candy striper who volunteered at the hospital. We kissed for the first time, and it was good. She wanted more…
In art school I was a star pupil, attending on a scholarship and getting another scholarship at the end of the year awarded by the teachers. But I was just a callow young man with much to learn.
On our first date, she invited me to a businessman’s club that her father owned. It was fancy and free. We ate and drank and drank. She got drunk. As she had a curfew on at the school dormitory, I was panicking. What to do? So I brought her half comatose body back to my apartment and I undressed her and threw her in the shower, then gave her coffee. I didn’t assault her nor did I look too closely at her naked body. She was my girl friend after that.
We never got to ‘home base’ in our sex lives, but I was satisfied. I don’t know if she was. I didn’t care. Like I said, I was a callow young man. Probably callous as well or at least ignorant of a woman’s needs.
She went back to Dallas for the holidays. I found out later she met someone who she later married. Then she came back for the spring semester. She went out on a date with someone who invited her, much to my chagrin. I thought we were exclusive. She didn’t. I began to work in the kitchen. I was harbouring the dream of going to Paris to study art. I had commissions to paint antique airplanes. I needed the money. I had met a rich dude who had a flying museum, of old biplanes, and he took us both up for a spin. He also flew us to Miami over spring break so we could take a ship to the Bahamas. It was disaster; she had her period. Not romantic. We went to the beach. We slept together for the whole night, holding each other. We hung out. Then we went back, she went to her parents (maybe saw the other man?).
Anyway life went on. I won prizes for my artwork at school. I was ‘a big man on campus’. I didn’t feel that big nor that important. Though there were people who were jealous of me; a couple of dudes played at peeping Tom watching us make love. I had an episode that put my life in danger; I fell asleep and fire ants came into bedroom and bite me on the face. Had to hospital in emergency.
I did learn how to ride a bike, something that had been lacking in my education; I was so proud of. myself.
Then it was over. I flew home, she flew home and I made plans to go to Paris….
Years later, when I was doing Graduate school in Dallas, I met her again. She had married and had a kid. She bought some artwork from me. Her hair had turned brown.
