I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t make room for people on the subway. Of course I make room for people when it is necessary, but it doesn’t come up often. I think it’s more the look I have about me that keeps them away, the same look that keeps me from feeling scared when I walk through the city by myself at night, the same look that repels men at bars while my friends are being chatted with when all I really want is a good lay and I just can’t seem to get one—not because I’m not pretty but because something about my demeanor screams, “not fucking interested,” or “snotty,” or “bitch.” I try to be optimistic, try to believe that it weeds out the stupid ones, the scary ones, the ones who don’t want anything as serious as me.
But right now, I could use a good lay.
Some hippy girl at a Keller Williams concert asked me, “So are you shy or just selective?” I thought that was a clever way to put it, and I realized that the latter was true and I wasn’t getting any from anyone that night. I tried to say it was neither, just that I don’t speak when there’s nothing that interests me in a conversation. Why bother? To fit in, I suppose. To socialize appropriately. To get laid. She didn’t buy it. She was high on cocaine and kept pointing to random people at the bar who she suspected might have ecstasy for her to enjoy, for me to relax. I wasn’t very helpful.
Tonight. Tonight, though, I’m going to go balls out at the bar. I’m not sure how to do that; sometimes drinking makes me more condescending than I usually am. Maybe I’ll cast myself in a play. Not play dumb, but a dumb play. I’ll be charmingly slow. I will refrain from mentioning a book until sunrise. I’ll ask questions about obvious things to which I already know the answer. That I already know the answer to—no grammar tonight. When I push my chest out and twirl my hair through my fingers, they won’t think I’m shy, and when I get laid, they’ll know I’m not selective.
Christina Lengyel is a curious type. She enjoys all manner of delights including but not limited to drawing stick figures and dancing with hoops. Good writing, she thinks, should inspire further thought. She lives in Harrisburg, PA and is completing her MFA at the University of Baltimore. You can find her online at www.xtinatumbles.com.