Suzanne

 I wrote this story one dark and stormy night during my cruise.

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So you want me to tell you about Suzanne? Well, in that case, I'll start by saying that there isn't really that much to say. Sure, I liked her. I'd say I liked her a lot. But everyone knew that anyway. What everyone didn't know were the details of the case. Y'know, the little things. Which is what I guess I'm going to tell you about.

The first thing I should start with is that we fought. Yeah, we fought a lot. Now, because I know very little when it comes to women, I don't know if she was fighting with me or against me, if you know what I mean? Like, with some girls, and definitely some guys (and I know this from fifteen years of observation) arguing is synonymous with flirting. I don't know how it was with her, but her, but for me, I didn't give a shit about what we were arguing over. I just enjoyed the conversation, and, of course, the time I had with her. I think the worst part of our arguments was this friend of hers who was always there with her, and insisted on having her part in our discussions. Of course I had no idea if she just wanted to have her say or if she was cockblocking, so I couldn't really do anything about it.

The nature of our arguments? Whatever. As I see it, Suzanne was a wannabe activist. Like, she'd always talk about how she wanted to be, I don't know, Buddhist or Anarchist or something, or how she'd become President and make a everyone plant a farm in their front yards. Wait, that last one was a bad example. Anyway, my point is, she could talk but I got the feeling that she wouldn't act. I guess her "radical" opinions is what sparked the majority of our arguments.

But of course, I gave no shit. It was all about her. Being with her was good, no matter what confrontations came along with that.

Yeah, Suzanne was something, all right. Sure, she wasn't the long legged Bombshell Russian model that my mom wanted me to marry, but honestly, forget my mom. If I had to describe her in one word, it'd be "petite". I like girls like that. Obviously, my mom's not happy with that, but again, forget her. Suzanne was petite and unbelievably cute. She had looks and spirit. I liked that. I liked her.

It's like a curse, y'know? It's like I'm the only one affected by it. Every girl I've tried to get close to, it's ended badly. Not badly like, "I-was-shanked-by-her-ex-boyfriend" badly, but like, "Shit happens" badly. Long story short, it never happened. I realized I needed to get it done when I realized that, most nights, in that time after you've gone to bed but before you've fallen asleep, I was thinking about her. This one day, I had a perfect opportunity to ask her out. But, shit happened. She was surrounded by her friends and didn't want to leave them. It's either that or, I dunno, I wasn't forward enough about my intentions. I'm not exactly Johnny mountainofselfesteem anyway. In any case, I sure as fuck wasn't going do that under those circumstances. So I put it off. Next thing you know, bam, day's over, year's over, and now she's gone to Sweden.

Now what? Well, I'm over her. Like I said, shit happens. Problem is, I don't trust myself anymore. Shit's happened twice already. I don't want it to happen again. And, knowing me, Suzanne won't be the second and last. If I let it, it WILL happen again.

So, I guess I'm doomed to be a tragic bachelor for life. That's okay. I'll travel the world. I'll take care of my parents. I'll visit my brother's wedding. I'll cure diseases. If there's one thing I'll be sorry for on my death bed, it's that I won't have done it with you, Suzanne.