We both worked as waitresses; maybe you couldn’t even call it waitresses. We worked at the town hall, preparing and cleaning up after different meetings. Or well, I worked there first, later she joined too.
Alcoholics, teachers, single mothers, extremely religious weirdoes, people with nothing better to do, a poetry club and even politicians, they all got the same damn coffee and lousy biscuits, in plastic cups and on paper plates.
When I think about it, those evenings would have been unbelievably boring without her. Actually, that entire period of my life would have been torture if I hadn’t met her. A grey fog of nothingness floating in empty space. That is actually a very clear prediction of how my life would later turn out.
But not yet.
I remember the first time I met her. I was about 23, and I had just moved to the city. I had no particular education or any goals. Basically I was young and lost. I found that job at the town hall, a job I kept for quite a while. I had been working there for around 4 months when one of our co-workers died. Now that I think about it I can’t remember what happened to her. We were 4 girls doing the preparing and cleaning every night, I was by far the youngest, and that kind of bothered me. I had no fucking clue what to talk about with these (in my eyes) dying old ladies! They treated me nice though, I’ll give them that.
So, one of them died, and honestly we didn’t really need someone to take her place, a single person would be enough to do what we did, but we could use a bit of fresh air, so we put up a post in the centre hall. I don’t think any of us expected someone to actually read it, and least of all turn up.
But she did, and I don’t think it was the fact that she wanted the job that surprised us the most.
The moment she walked in the door, everything moved in slow motion. My first thought was “fucking goth”, I immediately regretted ever thinking such a thing. It wasn’t her fault. The black hair was inherited, exactly like her peach pale skin. Her eyes, on the other hand, were pure luck. Small clear, crystal blue eyes, gently framed with short black eyelashes. None of this was her fault, things had just turned out this way. Fragile in a beautiful way, beautiful in a fragile way. If her proportions or features had been slightly different she would have been ugly, it would have looked wrong. It was as if every part of her body apologised for a different part. It was harmonious.
That was the moment I fell in love with another woman. Before she even opened her delicate mouth or took another breath. I couldn’t care less if she acted like a bitch or a princess. She could posses the most hideous voice and I wouldn’t have cared. It wasn’t her as a person I fell for. It was the female sex. She became, and still is, the symbol of my sexuality, how I changed from he to she. The discovery of a hidden world; my own sex as a lover.
Later she would become the symbol of true love too. But for now she just left me speechless.
That night was the best of my life. How I ever got her attention, or got her in my bed is a mystery, but I was ecstatic. The soft rain on my window produced a perfect soundtrack to the heat of our sheets and her perfect hands on my waist.
Her tenderness completely neutralised my lack of experience and insecurities. She only had to whisper in my ear and I would fall over in bed, spaced out in sensation. She had a melodic voice, but an incredibly firm touch. I hadn’t expected that, but she guided me around her body, never letting me miss a single sensitive point.
It didn’t take many days before I knew exactly what to do.
I called her Vendetta.
We moved in together. I had never been happier in my entire life. She was blueberry pie and I was ice cream, slowly melting in her hands.
I took the train to work, every single morning, and I never forgot to kiss her goodbye. She quit the town hall job pretty quickly, but I stayed, I saw no reason to find something new. I was happy.
I loved our late mornings, and the taste of coffee on her lips. I loved lying in bed, the smell of her hair and counting the stars. If only I had found her sooner, I used to think, if only.
Maybe it was my lack of motivation to create, to experience, to move on to a greater future, and to excel that made things turn out the way it did. I was happy, she was bored. I was the ocean, she was a bird.
And one day she was gone.
I got the over all storyline and idea from a dream I had, then I just added a bunch of details, and a better story.. or at least one that makes sense (you know how dreams are).
It’s the first of three parts. And I hope you’ll forgive me, because it really is a strange story.
The title is also a song very close to my heart, it’s by The Rasmus.