Wallflower
By: Chris Fox
Transcribed from: “Wallflower" by Priscilla Ahn
Off of the album: A Good Day
It was a party. The good stories always happen at the big get togethers, I guess. It's somewhat ideal, and also somewhat cliché. But people like the stories that are clichéd, and people like the things that are ideal. People just don't notice the cliché and ideal when it confronts them head on, in their own lives. Clichés and idealistic happenings are real, and they're everywhere, and they just love to hit you head on. If you notice them, then maybe you'll be prepared for Prince Charming or the Damsel in Distress that appears before you. Maybe you'll expect it like you should with all clichés and ideals. Maybe you'll savour it. Maybe you'll realize how precious those clichés and ideals are.
It was a party. It was a party because the good stories are always at parties. Because that's where everyone is. That's where everything is happening. It's when everyone is there, and everything is happening, that makes everything much more important. Even if nobody notices. Nobody notices when the hour hand moves; nobody notices when the temperature rises or falls one degree; nobody notices when the moment when a cloud disappears. But just because nobody notices these events, that doesn't make them any less cataclysmicly crucial, nor any less infinitely important. Just because you didn't see it doesn't mean it didn't matter.
It was a party. Just like any party, really. There was music, some stuff you recognized, some you didn't. There were lots of people, some you recognized, some you didn't. There was alcohol there, some you liked, some you didn't. There were conversations, most you heard, none you participated in. It's just how it goes sometimes, for some of us who are the desperately seeking friendship. It's how it goes sometimes, and remember, just because you don't see us doesn't mean we don't see you; just because you don't notice us doesn't mean we aren't important. Well, except for me.
It was a party. Just like any party, really. I was against the wall. I was supposed to come with Kristi - she was supposed to be my ride. But Kristi isn't very dependable, and she never showed up. I almost didn't go to the party - I'm the type not to go to parties when I don't know folks there, and I have no reason to go. But lonely houses crave socialization, and I'm not a particular fan of talking to my walls or ceiling. You can only spend so many days in your apartment before it drives you crazy and you realize you just need to get out and be around other people, whether it's at a 'just like any party,' or at the grocery store, or wherever.
And so, it was a just a party. Just a party that I went to of my own accord, for no reason. I knew of some of the guests, but knew none of them. Just Kaitlin Who?, Jack Huh?, Maggie Hmm?, Tyler Whuh?, Peter Meh?, and the like. I knew their names, and their faces; I didn't know them and they didn't know me (nor my name). And of course there were strangers - strangers - strangers, everywhere. So many! This party was in an apartment, but not like mine. One of the trendy downtown loft apartments. The sort that take up both the sixth and seventh floor, which were rented by hip college kids in their senior year, who had too much money from their parents and loans put together, and decided to burn it all on an expensive hangout where they could get away with things more sophisticated than a frat party, but with an equivalent amount of alcohol.
I was there; it was just a party. I was over along the wall where people wouldn't really notice me. It's not that I was trying to remain unnoticed, it's just how it worked out. I can't say that I'm terribly social, by any means. I'm not incapable of making friends, it's just tough. Tough when you know friends take advantage of your good nature - if you're good natured, that is - which I certainly am.
I had been taken advantage of before. Taken advantage of people who thought it'd be convenient to ask someone for advice; of course, being nice, I gave it to them, hoping - praying - that maybe when I truly needed it, I would receive the same treatment, which I didn't. I had been taken advantage of by boys who thought I'd be convenient for them; of course, being nice (and lonely), I would hug them, and kiss them, and make love to them, hoping - praying - that maybe, when I truly needed it, I would receive the same treatment, which I didn't. I had been taken advantage of, and you get quite used to it. You begin to expect that it will happen.
That's what keeps some of us from making friends. That's why it's so hard, sometimes. Because we know behind that nice smile and those quaint laughs, you're just going to end up hurting us like all the others. Another sad story. We don't want sad stories. We like the happy stories. The happy stories cheer us up so much, and we just want a nice happy story for awhile. It's all we're asking for, we just can't pursue it properly. Pursuing the happy story leads to the sad. So we place ourselves on walls all across the world, at 'just a party' anywhere, begging for someone to treat us right. It's all we want.
And there I was. It was just a party, and I'm by myself, so just excuse me and go about your merry ways. All gallivanting on grape juice, dancing about, and flirting about, and flaunting about. The party had a pulse, and I love the pulse. The pulse is what helps make these sort of affairs more interesting. You feel this odd rush of excitement watching everyone go about their ways. Like watching the video monitor for a camera in a public place: you get to view all the nuances of life and society, without anyone else being the wiser that they're being watched with such depth and detail. It's like being an envoy, watching a foreign country's native customers; it's beautiful in that voyeuristic sort of way.
It's beautiful because you're not involved. It's a grand event, because you don't have to worry about yourself. You just gaze away, checking out all the happenings. Guys who want to get laid, girls who want to get laid - when both of the aforementioned fail at getting laid - guys who want to get drunk, girls who don't know when to stop drinking, social butterflies fluttering around meeting new people, old socialites who were treated like party-going royalty. Yet, you're separated from all this hierarchy - you are a disparate soul - you don't matter. It's perfect. You're not involved. You're ju...
He's looking at me. I was just scanning the room. It was nonchalant. Just a scan, it's what you do as a wallflower. You scan. You quickly glance. Like throwing darts blindfolded, you sweep your eyes across the room. It's just what you do. You don't expect much more out of such a superfluous action. It's just a glance, it's just a sweep, it's just a scan, it's just a party.
Staring, staring, staring, staring. He and I. Our eyes haven't disconnected like they're supposed to. This is unnatural. Why is he looking at me? Why can't I stop looking at him? What's going on? We're breaking so many wallflower ordinances that the judge might as well fine me a thousand ten thousand social points and/or nine months in solitude, and be done with me. But we're staring, rather, I'm staring at him while he stares at me, rather...
Rather, rather, rather, rather; staring, staring, staring, staring. My heart is aching from all the staring. It's beating, beating, beating, beating - begging, begging, begging, begging out loud 'STOP LOOKING RIGHT NOW AKI!' - while my soul is begging, begging, begging, begging "I'VE GOT THINGS I CAN TALK TO YOU ABOUT!" Begging, begging, begging, begging, rather, rather, rather, rather...
And it broke, like a wine glass on a hard floor. Snap. There went the eye contact. The camera was on him, showing his somewhat unshaven, brown eyed face, and he jerks his head camera left; camera switch, now it's me, and i try to bury my face in my black hair which is way to short to hide anything by quickly looking down and to the camera left. I felt my face on fire. I must've been an Asian tomato or something. That was one of the most embarrassing things I can remember in the past year.
I'm such a social klutz. A pathetic, ridiculous, inconceivably childish, social klutz. I just stared - gawked, even - at this boy - who was cute - I seriously admit, he was cute - just a boy - stared - constantly - silly - sad, silly, pathetic, girls staring at boy - headline news - pathetic. I could feel my heart beating so fast. It felt like it was going to explode! Hearts don't beat this fast, do they? Is this normal? Is this typical? Of course it's not typical, I don't look at people - at boys - like that - at places like this - at just a parties - no. No. No, no, no, no. No. No I don't. No. I don't. I. Don't.
But I did, and AHHHHHHHH, what's wrong with me? Why can't I just talk to people? Why is my heart exploding several times? Isn't it only allowed to explode once? Why can't he just talk to me? Why can't I just glance at him? Why did I have to just gawk, gawk, gawk, gawk all the live long day? Why can't I just talk to people like a normal person? Please, may I talk to someone like a normal person? Why can't I just be a normal person? Is he still staring at me? Or was this all contrived? Am I just imagining things? Why is life so complicated? Why can't I just make friends? Why did I come to this party? Why...
"Why?"
"What?" I blubbered it. I blubbered it like a fat, blubbery whale. That's how blubbery I blubbered it. There was so much blubber all over that 'what?' that eskimos would never go hungry again. I blubbered so bad, I almost dropped the soda in my hands; I'm sure at least a little spilled. And it's not just the fact that I blubbered it. That's half the fact. The other half is I completely heard the conversation starter wrong. Why, why, why? I heard why, but actually I should have heard...
"Hi."
"What?" I blubbered.
He laughed. "Hi."
"Oh... hhhhhhh." My neurons suddenly found it completely impossible to form a coherent sentence out of a single word. I drank my soda so fast I almost choked.
"Are you okay?" he asked with another laugh.
"No... I mean yeah... wait. Can we just start over?"
He smiled an unshaven smile. "Sure... hi."
"Hi."
"Well at least that was a better start." He ran his hand through his hair, and turned his back to face the same wall my back was affixed to. "How're you doing tonight?"
"Hi... I mean, fine."
He nodded, "I understand that. I'm not really a party person, myself." He looked like he was. "I ended up coming with a friend. But I have no idea where he wandered off to. I was supposed to get my own ride home anyway, though. So I suppose that works out."
Just keep drinking, and keep listening, and keep pretending like I'm an interesting person. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. "Yeah, I was supposed to come with someone too. But they couldn't show up. And I mean, my place is right in the same neighbourhood..." Why in the world are you telling a stranger where you live, Aki?! "So... you know... I was just like, why not? Yeah. Something like that."
"Wow, so you live in this neighbourhood, eh? It's kind of a pricey part of town - I envy you. The houses here are nice."
Faux pas time. "Well, like, I'm just in the neighbourhood. Not really in a place like this or anything. I just have a small apartment. My ex and I were living together, and stuff..." Why in the world are you telling a stranger about your ex boyfriend, Aki?! "But he decided he'd move out. And I can afford the place, since it's pretty small. So yeah..."
"Haha, it's cool. I wasn't judging you or anything - sorry if you took it that way." He touched my shoulder, and my whole body tremored with OH MY GOD IT FEELS SO GOOD. "My name's Kevin. What's yours?"
"Aki."
"That's a pretty name. I think it means... bright, right?"
I didn't know. "I don't know, honestly..."
"Is it Japanese? Or am I pretending to know too much about names?"
"No, you're right. It's Japanese." I pretended I wasn't blushing.
"So, Aki..." he began, slowly stopping to search for something to say while looking me up and down while fiddling with his blazer's buttons. "Shall I tell you about myself, or shall I politely ask you to do so?"
"You first."
Another beautiful laugh. It gave me shivers. It made me laugh too. "Fair enough. Well, I'm not from here originally. I came into town from Seattle. Stayed here at a friends place for awhile and realized I loved the weather, and loved the way the city carried itself. It's just so bohemian here... and somehow less cluttered and hectic as up north. Let's see, I have a place over in Oakland now; moved into that friends neighbourhood, actually, but he doesn't live here anymore. Just a place to stay now. I have a nice yard, though, and a dog. And I dabble here and there, as far as jobs go. I majored in journalism, in college, and freelance sometimes. But no proper writing job right now. I just pay the bills however I can manage, mostly by writing manuals for business firms downtown, or internet start-ups who need some proper organization. And... I guess I have a decent online presence; I write for this one blog my friend has set up, where I talk about movies, and stuff; if I write enough in a month, my friend will give me a small cut of the advertisement profits, which doesn't hurt..."
And so on and so forth. I've done what he's doing now, though he's much more fluid than I could ever hope to be. He's opening his social vents, as I like to say. Folks like us - us wallflowers - just don't get many chances to express ourselves to people (that we assume, anyway) will understand us. So when we're given the chance, we tend to just unload on the person listening. It's really relieving and enlivening, actually. Though I can't claim to be as interesting as him. But he's just so beautiful, oh his brown eyes, and oh his brown hair, and he looks built without trying, and I bet he rides a bike a lot, and...
"And so, I believe it's your turn, Aki."
"Huh?" He's saying that it's my turn to talk. "Oh, you mean, it my turn to talk, duh. Wellllllllllllll..." I'll spare you the long-winded blubber I forced him to endure. I basically just told how I'm still young, with a business degree, and want to set up a decent website, but still need to find a proper graphic designer, thus in the mean time I fill my time with writing in a diary, and writing poetry, and wandering around the internet looking at videos, and reading reading reading reading listen to me drop all these authors I love and oh, I guess I don't have much more to say, so yeah.
"That's really interesting though. I think that website would be a great idea when you get it off the ground. I could try to see who designed my friends site, if you'd like? I could also see if he'd like to feature it or something, whenever you get started. Again, if you'd be interested?"
"Yeah, that may work." Stroke my neck, stroke my neck, play with my necklace, play with my bracelet, this is really hard, he's so cute...
"You're kind of soft-spoken, you know?" he said. I knew.
"I know... I'm just... not very good at meeting people, is all."
"Letdowns in the past?"
I actually didn't expect him to say something like that. Mostly because it sounds like exactly what I would've asked myself if I were him in this situation. "Yeah, actually. It's just... hard to trust people sometimes, you know?"
"Well... I know we just met, and I know that this may seem bold. But you can trust me." He touched me again and I felt my whole body grow warm, as if heated by a jolt of lightning. "I've just been through a lot of the same stuff. I've had a bad choice in friends, in the past. It gets tough to meet people after you've been bruised."
"Yes!" I said too loudly. I calmed myself considerably before continuing. "You just want so live the corners of the room so desperately. But it's not so easy, like all these other folks. We just need help. People like me, that is, I mean, us. Y'know."
"I do," he replied. And that reply was followed by a silence, yet, somehow, it didn't feel uncomfortable. One of those ever-so-rare exchanges of silence as the rest of the party busied itself with its own concerns, as parties do. He looked at me, and naturally, I looked back at him. And our eyes met, and they started talking too. But they felt comfortable enough for the both of us. And I felt content for the first time in a very long time.
"Is it tough?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. "Is it tough to come over here and talk to some strange girl you don't know at all. Just praying that they are willing to talk back? Isn't it terrifying."
"Absolutely. I can't stand it, it's so scary. But... if I didn't do that, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. You know?"
I smiled. I felt perfect.
I got trampled. Not metaphores there, I definitely got trampled. Some jock who had obviously graduated but still longed for the pigskin flopped drunkenly at me. He rammed me hard, and my soda went everywhere on the floor, much to the jeers of nearby onlookers. I almost fell, but is some massive acrobatic display, Kevin somehow managed to stop my fall, wrap his arms entirely around me, basically catch me, pull me upright next to his warm body, all without spilling his drink at all. I wanted to say so many things that would have only come out as awkward, so I made a huff, and buried my head into his plaid shirt, embarrassed.
Another beautiful laugh. "You okay?"
"Thanks... I'm such a klutz."
"You're not. He was. Don't worry about it." He gave me a reassuring hug, and my heart felt alive.
And it just felt perfect. It's so hard to get this sort of satisfaction. One in five million tries. Wallflowers don't have this sort of luck. But I did tonight. I wanted to break into dance right where I stood. I couldn't if I wanted to though, because Kevin left his arm dangling across my shoulder, and unless he wanted to be America's next best dancer with me, by saving my klutz self, I shouldn't try a solo performance with him still attatched to me. Besides, I wouldn't do anything to sever that arm from me at this point. I couldn't help but smile giddly like a fourteen year old school girl.
"I know this is really abrupt, but it seems that this party is getting a bit too loud for my tastes. Would you..."
"I don't... really want to sleep with you," was what I found spilling out of my mouth.
"I hope not, at the pizza shop down the street I was going to invite you to."
"Sorry... I just... I've had problems like this before."
"You don't really need to worry about those problems. Honestly. Let's get out of here, and grab a bite to eat. And maybe if I'm lucky, you'll give me your number after we're done, and by the time you get to your apartment, I'll call you goodnight. Maybe even wake you up in the morning, if you're the type to like those cutesy good morning messages on your phone."
"To hell with that. I like my sleep." How witty, Aki. I was probably just drunk on his kind words, not that I was complaining.
"Again, fair enough! So, are you interested? Want to leave?"
"I'm very interested. And definitely."
We smiled. He took my hand. Walk, walk, walk, walk through a park to his car, which he parked far away. But it gave him time to flirt with me more and make my heart beat, beat, beat, beat faster than my feet on the sidewalks. It's that love at first sight feeling, which is so cheesy, and cliché. But a little birdy told me - earlier tonight, before events transpired - that people like clichés. I do. I love them. Love them.
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