It was just another day. Well, night, I guess. Around seven p.m to be specific. A whole group of people were required to come to this corny event to talk about why people should vote.
Myself being the, well, "myself" that I am, did everything besides actually contemplate what the speakers portrayed. I've noticed that so far, every female from this school who has sat within my vicinity shows signs of anxiety-
Fidgety fingers, closed tucked arms, constantly re-adjusting sitting positions, restless legs shaking up and down or to and fro, But why? What is there to be anxious about? Perhaps social judgement?
Many others including myself personally believe that true greatness is not what the public sees in you, but instead how wrong you prove them by being yourself. There it happened. Her restless legs caught my eye.
They were a tad bit shakier than the usual people I've been around, nonetheless I was tired of it. The rest of the signs kicked in eventually- re-adjusting her seating, heavier breaths, fidgety hands.
Now, I'm not really the type to initiate- haven't been the type for quite a large portion of my life, but I felt like I could have done something to help.
I know that I used to have restless legs due to lack of other thoughts, until I started listening to music good enough to keep stuck in my head (push that xxxtentashit to the side please). If she had a song- any song stuck in her head- maybe it would help her anxiety just a little bit.
Hell, maybe even get a few of her contacts to be a good human and at least be friends with her? She was beautiful. No, I shall not compare thee to a summer's day and rant on about how I fell in love with her despite knowing nothing more than her physical appearance.
Let's be real- you can never truly know a woman until you've found yourself lost in conversations that make time fly much faster than it seems, much less love a woman without seeing past the boundaries of the mortal human body.
Her face was clear, and body was slim- with a clothing choice that didn't necessarily scream "slut", but at the same time looked not like that of someone possessing fashion rivaling that of a blind man.
Personally, this is my favorite sense of fashion when it comes to today's generation of women. She wore makeup, but didn't bathe in it- yes, the risks of seeing a woman without her makeup can often be dangerous in this generation- but so what if her face wasn't perfect?
Who is anyone to judge? I am no one to judge. But, just how would I even initiate? "Hey, your legs are causing a magnitude eight earthquake, would you like me to make them stop?",
"I'm a human male in a generation where majority of people my age only want sex from women, could I please get your number so we can talk about your anxiety?" Just like that, my mind went on and on about how I could mess it up and have someone judging me when in reality I want the opposite.
Stalling. Maybe she wasn't actually anxious, and that I didn't have to do anything? So text away I did, burning through my phone's keyboard asking my specialist friend whether or not the young woman's body language indeed indicates anxiety.
She had a drink- it appeared to be from Starbucks maybe? Do anxious people use caffeine as a false-knowledged means to calm down albeit its opposite effects? It was as though my sub-conscious knew that if I asked enough questions rather than act, time would go on long enough and she'd leave just like the rest of us after the event.
Eventually, I ran out of questions to ask myself. There were free cookies at the event- perhaps if I offer her one it would lead to her asking me for my name, starting a conversation?
The only way to find out was to go for it- but I felt unable to. Like some overwhelming force slapped me back in line. I fought- thinking to myself, "what the hell you pussy, do you really want to be this way forever?" and other demeaning thoughts, hoping it would motivate me to act.
To minimal avail it worked- I wound up eventually getting out of my seat. Two cookies- one for me, and one for her, to make it look a bit more natural and less planned out- who would want some random stranger spending that much time planning things out about his or her self?
There I sat, like a fool still unable to initiate. Time passed, and it was too late- the event was over, and off she went. I remained just another stranger. Then came the regrets and mental self-beatings that come after all failures, of course. I've learned to turn them in to motivation.
I was tired of this. Tired of wanting something so badly yet being unable to act on it. Driving back to my house, I had only two things: time, and music. Time to think- will I let this happen again? There is a chance that I see her again.
How am I able to drive fearlessly in the pitch black of night fearing not car crashes, not death, but instead the act of initiation? How am I able to fear not the public judgement in the slightest manner, yet instead the act of comforting an anxious soul?
The same damn songs play, despite having 62 different songs downloaded- I guess sometimes, songs are like people. It doesn't matter how many in total there are- certain groups of people just cater to your liking over and over again.
It's not about how many people you can get in your life- it's about finding the few who are worth keeping and cherishing them each time they appear. It wasn't just her. This has happened before- people who seem interesting, yet pulled back by my inability to act, I moved along but a stranger.
Even if I act on but a few- a few that I can cherish- shall make all the difference. So oncemore I state, cheers to the girl with the restless legs, for striking my final straw. No longer shall I tolerate this inability to act- instead, it shall learn to tolerate me.
Maybe even some day, she will wind up reading this. I simply refuse to let moments such as this fade away into the dark depths of forgetfulness.
~Just your average every day guy.