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Conundrum with the Double X Chromosome |
| Written by Dean Sanchez | |
| Saturday, 21 April 2007 | |
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What am I doing? I know it’s a long shot, with a low success rate… just like last time. I suck at doing this. I can do lots of other stuff but this. Interaction with the double X chromosome was never my specialty. Maybe it’s because of my undesirable traits such as: 1. being an *******, 2. being really selfish, or 3. being an inconsiderate *******. Damn! With all this loathing…. oh man, its bad I say. Bad! She just pops in my head out of nowhere. Since that fateful day, during Chemistry, why does the old lady have her sit next to me? It’s always like this; I have these weird attractions to girls who sit in close proximity to me. I’m like a friggin’ halogen and those girls are alkali. A lot of elements can easily bond with them; unlike me a mere halogen with one electron available for bonding, and have a hard time bonding. But whenever I try to bond with one, its either I they can’t because I my electron affinity is too high, or because they already bonded with another element. Chemistry is a pretty easy class for me. All of it usually come to me with great ease, unless its one of those days I stare at the girl in close proximity toward me and think. I like her, hey presto, its just infatuation. A mere infatuation. I suck interacting with the double X chromosome; no matter how hard I try… I fail. Why is that? Its not that I’m lacking in the confidence side, its something else I can’t explain. Maybe because of my admiration to the double X chromosome, or my easily infatuated heart. Stoichiometry, laws, bonding, such things come easy. How come talking to girls is so hard for me? I guess I’m just one of those nerds, eh? She is one of the most wonderful girls I’ve met. She doesn’t conform to the popular scene, doesn’t listen to crap music, or dress like a ****. She tries, she cares, she’s opinionated. Me? I’m just a lowlife. Nothing better to do but write stories, eh. In a table, there are four chairs. She sits diagonally from where I sit. ‘Hey’ I said. ‘Who else sits here?’ she said. ‘Uhmm, I dunno’ I replied. At first it seemed like she doesn’t want to get stuck with me, some guy with bushy hair. But as it turns out she doesn’t care. After spring break. I did nothing but work and get fat. Same old routine. I come to my Chemistry class, glad to see mi compadres. But during that week, I did nothing productive but think about that short hair she has, that immaculate smile that she shows, and especially… those eyes. Eyes, hypnotic, bright, and cheery. Chocolates. I’m addicted to chocolates. I bought five pounds worth after Easter. ‘I hope she likes chocolates’ I thought to myself. What an idiot! Do you really think you can woo her by offering her chocolates? Wow! Such desperation calls for a great plan. Am I romantic? Not cheesy romantic but ‘Romantic’ in terms of Enlightenment dissidents, basically old-school republicans. I seem to like their idea, their classy art, and especially their depictions of love. I sound really corny don’t I, but other guys won’t even probably write like this. Maybe this is because of my inner Anima or just remembered the drama of Wuthering Heights. Goddammit! That was the question I’d like to ask, but it really does sound awfully corny. ‘Do you need help?’ I offer my services, in exchange for your sole attention towards me… I thought. ‘I don’t know how to do this’ She points towards the stoichiometry test I almost aced, except I messed up on balancing the equation. That’s what I told her at least. I was worried if she actually knew what she was doing when we were taking the test. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here to help you’ I should have said but instead I said ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you.’ See the difference between the two responses? One could’ve hinted my attraction to her, the other just has a formal tone to it. I suck at conversations with double X chromosomes, but with XY chromosomes, I can converse fairly easy. For some weird reason, I always come out as an ******* to the double X chromosome. She loves zebras. She’s an artist, like I am…. Except my canvas is this word document and my brush is the keyboard. She is very friendly. I’m not. I have friends less than my fingers in my left foot. But they are real friends. Ones I can count on. Ones I can trust. Quality over quantity. I don’t even know if we have at least something in common. I have NO idea. I’m screwed. To her, well at least to most of the girls I’ve observed, I’m just some lowlife without any desirable boyfriend traits. Goddammit! Stupid natural selection. ‘This is side one, flip me over. I know I’m not your favorite record.’ I hope she flips me over. I sit in my chair, my ‘interest’ Geiger counter up and running searching for the tiniest amount of her interest towards me. For those who failed or barely passed Chemistry, a Geiger counter is a device that can detect radiation. Heat is a form of radiation, infrared to be exact. I’m looking for at least a small hint of radiation. Not burning heat but warmth. It’s pretty cold, the room is cold, even the table is stone cold, my own body heat condenses in the table. ‘So, what did you guys do during the break’ I said to break the awful silence towards my tablemates. ‘Worked.’ She replied. She was the first one to answer. She acknowledges my existence. She cares! I was working five days ago. Cleaning the mop bucket, a thought pops up. Her. I was doing business over the Internet, guess what? Her again. Before sleep? Her. I was itching to get back to school the whole week, or at least see her around downtown. But she’s an up town girl. Billy Joel is awesome but the boy band ruined it. Now, I know. Well, not really. Rationally speaking, she just answered my question. I don’t really know. I never did. Made it through another week without rushing as I have been doing in the past. Lucky enough, I haven’t made a fool of myself. I try. At least try. I try not to make the same mistake I have been doing since high school started. ‘Do you mind if I sit next to you and watch you smile?’ the song declares. The exact same thing I have been doing, discreetly and without the question. I seriously have to get my life back on track. I’ve been fooling around too much. Get serious, you ******* lowlife! Should I confess my enduring, unwithering love for the girl with the short hair who likes zebras? Sadly, love involves two people’s passionate attraction to each other. So technically, love should be replaced by ‘passionate attraction.’ Its infatuation, pinche culero! Such a hopeless romantic I am. I don’t mind cheesy romantic movies. In the world of masochistic male teenagers conforming to the stuff they see on the information highway, if someone heard what I’m typing right now, I will be constantly barraged by insults and made fun of. But I think I stopped caring what others think, well in general at least, but I never stopped caring what girls think about me. ‘Nothing seems to be, nothing tastes as a thing I can’t have,’ another song declares as the singer supposedly ‘muster every ounce of confidence (he has).’ Guess what, he gets the good-looking girl. Well, in my world, that doesn’t make any sense. Too unreal, too idealistic. As if intelligent, educated girl would ever fall for a lowlife, underachieving boy?! Well, rationally speaking… it IS possible. But it’s a long shot. So I listened to the song, as any testosterone loaded teenage kid would do, desperately trying to woo the girl of my dreams. The humid, scorching day left the tables nice and warm. Most girls would be wearing slutty sexy short shorts in the stupid sunny school. She shows up with her usual clothes I call ‘hippie’ clothes, like the potheads in the 60s. I don’t mean that in a negative tone. I like her individualism, which carries on to her sense of fashion. The old lady meets me at the door. ‘Your test results are back. Some of you did good, most of you did horrible,’ the old lady said as she looked through the brightly red colored test papers. ‘Hey, how’s your weekend?’ I asked her, hopefully hoping to extract the most miniscule amount of detail and use it to prolong the conversation unlike last time, which ended like a sparkler… it was good while it lasted then poof, done. I was hoping more of like the ones with a rocket and when they explode comes lights bursting outwards in a form of a sphere. ‘Worked,’ she replied in a monotone in which I could sense her extreme boredom. The old lady gave out papers and she gave it to the short haired girl sitting diagonally from where I sat. ‘Did you do anything exciting?’ I asked cheerily. ‘Can you stop asking stupid questions! I just failed the stupid finals! You’re so annoying.’ Dammit! I didn’t even get to the part where I get to ‘muster every ounce of confidence I have.’ Well, at least I tried. Maybe next time I come up with a plan to woo her, she won’t be so moody. I’ll be with her on summer school anyway. Copyright 2007 Dean Sanchez {moscomment} |
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| Last Updated ( Monday, 30 April 2007 ) |
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