Smiths shirt

Could it -- could it be? Over there -- you see her? You see that girl over there? The skinny one with the pretty, straight brown hair? Is she wearing -- ? Is that -- ?

Yes. YES. She is. That girl is wearing a Smiths shirt.

What's she doing here? How does a girl wearing a Smiths shirt end up here, at a Barnes & Noble in Canton, CT? She can't be from around here. None of the girls in school would ever wear a Smiths shirt. I'm sure none of the girls in school even know who the Smiths are. So how'd she even get here? No one in Connecticut likes the Smiths. I'm, like, the only one in Connecticut who likes the Smiths.

That's probably what she thinks. She probably thinks she's the only person in this whole awful repressed state who knows who Morrissey is, and Johnny Marr. But no! I do too! I like the Smiths! I was just listening to "The Queen Is Dead" not twenty minutes ago on my Discman in the car. She should know this. She has to know this.

Maybe she can sense it.

God, she's cute. God, she's so cute. Even without the Smiths shirt she'd be cute -- I'd notice her even without the Smiths shirt -- but with the Smiths shirt it's just like -- my God. She's perfect. She's utterly perfect. But she's not like beautiful. A lot of guys probably don't even notice her. The kind of douchebags who listen to like 104.1 and all that shit. "Modern rock" -- ugh. They probably think she's dull because she listens to "depressing" music like the Smiths and doesn't wear a lot of makeup or whatever. God they're idiots. They are so fucking dense. She's probably dating some loser who listens to fucking jazz or whatever because no one else understands her enough to give her the time of day and she thinks that's the best she can do. She thinks she'll never find someone else who gets the Smiths like she does. What they're about. God, she's perfect.

Is she older than me? She looks like she's about my age. Maybe a year older. Two maybe. A few, at most. She might be a freshman in college. She probably goes to college in like New York City or something. Yeah, that would make sense. She probably goes to college in New York and is home for the weekend. Because why else would a girl wearing a Smiths shirt be in a Barnes & Noble in Canton? It doesn't make any sense any other way. God, she probably knows a million dudes there who are all over her there. Who tell her they like the Smiths but only because they want to get in her pants. God I hate those guys. Damnit, she probably has her choice of every guy in New York City, walking around with that Smiths shirt. I don't stand a chance.

Did she just look over here? Oh god oh god, what am I doing?

All right, calm down. She was looking at the door. That's all. She didn't see me. She didn't even notice me. Of course she didn't notice me. Who would notice me? I'm not even wearing a Smiths shirt or something cool like that. I don't even have a Smiths shirt. What am I wearing? A green shirt? Green? God, I hate myself.

OK. I have to talk to her, though. I have to. I may never see another girl wearing a Smiths shirt here again. Or anywhere, for the rest of my life. If I blow this, that's it for me. It's never going to happen for me. I have to talk to her. But what should I say? "Hey, I like your shirt?" God, that's stupid. "Hey, I like the Smiths too?" That's even worse. I wish I were wearing a Smiths shirt. Then I could just walk over there and sort of catch her eye and she would be the one to ask me about my Smiths shirt. That would be slick.

Maybe I could just say something cooler. Like, "man, 'Meat Is Murder' is really underrated, don't you think?" Or, "I probably listen to 'Hatful of Hollow' as much as anything else." No, that would be stupid too. That would be even worse. She would think I'm a mental patient. Or I could go into the CD section and grab a Smiths record and just happen to walk past. Oh I'm sure they don't have any Smiths albums here. "Singles," maybe. I'd be surprised if the Smiths even have a stupid little namecard here. The Smiths are probably just thrown in with all the other "Various S's." God I hate this town.

What's she looking at over there -- Camus? Damn it, I don't know anything about Camus. Maybe I could pretend like I do. "Oh. Camus. Cool." Like I already know all about him. No. She might ask me about him. And besides, the first thing I say to her shouldn't be a lie. Maybe I could go over there, pick up a Camus book, start flipping through it, go "oh, do you know anything about Camus? I've never read him I just heard he was great and I should check him out and -- oh, wow, is that a Smiths shirt you're wearing? I really love the Smiths, they're the best, aren't they, you don't see too many people around here wearing Smiths shirt, I need a new one because my old one had a hole in it on account of me wearing it so much because I like the Smiths so much want to go out or something?"

Jesus I'm a wreck.

Wait where'd she go? Oh there she is, she's headed towards the door. She's leaving. NO. NOOOOOOO. Should I follow her? FOLLOW HER. I should follow her. No that would be weird that would be too weird that would be -- . Gah. GAAAHHH NO DON'T LEAVE I LOVE YOU. Follow her you idiot. No I can't. I can't follow her. FOLLOW HER NO STAY RIGHT HERE YOU STAY RIGHT HERE YOU DON'T GO ANYWHERE AND DO ANYTHING STUPID YOU GOT THAT?

There. She's gone. She's gone. Fucking hell.

WHAT DID I DO? I just let her go? A girl wearing a Smiths shirt not thirty-five steps away from me and I let her go??? Jesus! I feel like my head if floating away. Aah! Aaaaahhh! Aaaaaahhhh no no no.

Maybe I could catch her. Catch up with her. Where did she go? Where would she go? Maybe she went to that Strawberries down the road. Could I get there? Could I run over there? That's like three strip malls over. Is there something else in this plaza? That Old Navy? That Panera Bread? She could be anywhere. She could have disappeared. She could have been an illusion all along.

That's it. She's gone. There's nothing I can do. Except come back. Maybe she comes here every Tuesday at 4. Maybe she gets off work or gets out of class or whatever then and always comes here to look at books. I'll come back next week at 3 and I'll hang around Camus until 5. Every Tuesday until I see her again. Or maybe she comes every day at 4, or every Tuesday and Thursday. For the first week at least, I'll come every day at 3. Or the first couple weeks. And I'll buy a Smiths shirt, and I'll be wearing it, so she'll come talk to me. I'll come every day at 3:00, every single day, whenever I can, whenever I can get a ride.