Danielle, the curiosity

At the time I wasn’t looking to date a girl.  Nor did I even wish to buck around with one.  Yet when Danielle asked me if I wanted to come back to her place – Danielle, with her sad posture, tomboy looks, and evasive eyes – I didn’t say no.I figured I could thumb through her record collection and bookshelves, look inside her kitchen cupboards, find out what pieces of furniture she owned.  Selfish, I know. And a little queer. But I had questions.  I was curious.  What direction did her windows face?  What color was the carpet in her living room?  Was her bed situated anywhere near the kitchen?  For months I had been walking through countless neighborhoods in Pittsburgh, trying to imagine the lives of those who lived behind bolted front doors and curtained windows. It was a time and a place in my life that, looking back, I never really wrapped my head around.

Danielle, of course, had her own intentions.  She said she had always lived alone.

When we got to her place I watched her crack open tall boys of Budweiser and drink them out of awkwardness, never bothering to offer me one.  She gave me an American Spirit when I finally asked her for a cigarette.  As I smoked her eyes darted from the center of the carpet to the corner of the wall and back.  Our conversation was mostly start and stop. At some point I had to take a leak. Inside the bathroom I noticed that the toilet had not been flushed for at least a day, maybe two.

Back in the living room we listened to a couple of records and talked shit about John Updike for a while.  I flipped the record and the subject changed to biochemistry, which Danielle rambled on about self-consciously for almost an hour.  She had once studied the it in college.

As she spoke I looked over at her twin-sized bed that was off in the corner.  It was small and empty.  Uninviting.  I noticed then for the first time that Danielle had very small breasts, and that there was no real figure to her thin body.  Her hands were cold and chapped.  Looking at them I knew I had to go home.  In fact, I had known all along.

We slept together that night. For several days after I struggled to find some kind of hidden purpose or meaning behind it. I didn’t touch another woman for years after that.

2 Responses to “Danielle, the curiosity”

  1. 1 Tom

    Strange, but this almost sounds like one of the most attractive people you have run into, Knox. Those curious, quiet people always get on my curious side.

  2. 2 diana

    please remove my photo above from this post. i do not want to be associated with it as it makes it sound like the woman in the photo is the person involved. thank you. and make sure you ask ahead of time when you are planning to use (and not credit) someone else’s photo.

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