X-Terra Tales

This is the beginning of a short story (or series of tales hence the title) that never got finished. I figured I'd throw it on here for those of you who haven't had much to read lately on my blog. I'm just catching up on my reading of others' blogs. I haven't even really had time to comment let alone write my own posts. I'm glad that I will be able to catch up somewhat on this three day weekend.

Anyway, enjoy! Oh and some of the names have been changed to protect the guilty! (Because, of course, I had to put some reality into it.)

Some guys grab you with their looks. You can’t help feeling, “Wow! He won the genetic lottery!” Others grab you with their wit. However, once he stops making you laugh the tears will well for days. Then there are those guys that you can’t believe could be so talented. You marvel at what he can do and later marvel at how you’re not enough of an audience for him. Finally, there are the smart guys. Smart guys are incredibly stupid when it comes to relationships. They have a tendency to fall for women you can’t stand and think you’re such a good buddy that you want to help them untangle the mess they’ve made of their love lives.

Matthew was none of these. Matthew grabbed me with his smell. He wore something subtle but powerful and it found it’s way into my soul. Well, o.k., it actually went somewhere else first but I was trying not to be vulgar. Unfortunately, I didn’t know it was him. In the process of finding him again I lost my heart but for once not my hold on my sanity. Which if you have ever been in love with a typical American guy you know what I mean.

There are three types of males in the U.S. There are boys, guys and men. (I know I left out teenagers. Teenagers don’t apply to this theory as they are their own subspecies of the human race. I really don’t think teenagers should have their behaviors held against them. Think back to your adolescence and you’ll be less judgmental.) Boys are naturally young males that need to be taught how not to turn into a guy. Sometimes they lose the battle during puberty but occasionally they make it to the hallowed ground of being men. Men are evolutionarily equivalent to women. They are a step, make that a giant leap forward, for their kind. They are responsible, compassionate, dedicated to principles they believe in, not dependent and not excessively demanding. Men are males you can actually talk to and have sex with and not get screwed up emotionally. Guys on the other hand....

I am an observer. I am rarely able to take part in the mating dance because I am a human free zone on the straight man’s radar system. A straight guy looks at a crowd and he’ll hear the little beeps when his eyes scan the women. Not when he gets to me though. I am the Stealth bomber of women. I get looked over completely. No little flashing lights when he looks at me, no tell-tale warning signs that the enemy is in his midst. When a straight guy notices me it is because he needs a friend., a pal, a buddy. A spy in the enemy camp perhaps? Which leaves me feeling eternally like the best friend in a bad teen flick from the eighties. And since, on the inside, I’m still the good middle class girl that I was raised to be, I actually don’t mind helping out as the friend, the pal, the buddy. Although, I can’t help wishing that if my life were a teen flick at least it would be a good John Hughes one. The feel-bad then feel-good kind where the oddballs end up ruling the day. The type of movie that people would move up to DVD players for since they wore their VCR’s out watching my story...sigh.

I suppose I should tell you more about myself. I’m a librarian in a Northern California town by profession and an actress by avocation. Despite popular opinion not all librarians are fuddy-duddy ugly women. In fact, my friend Aurora, is drop dead gorgeous. No one ever believes that she’s a librarian. Sometimes, they don’t believe I am either. I’m passably pretty according to friends. Even on a bad self-esteem day; I will admit that I’m not butt-ugly, just slightly attractive. Have you ever owned a Crayola crayon box? Five-year-old self portraits were easy; Crayola brown hair, Crayola brown eyes and Crayola pink and brown skin, and I was finished with the masterpiece that is me.

It’s not my parents’ fault. They have exotic genes. They just passed them onto my siblings. I’m the normal looking one. My sister is beautiful and my brothers are very handsome. Although my youngest brother is short for a guy. Yes, unfortunately he is still a guy. He hasn’t evolved...yet. However, I’m holding my breath. Our dad is the benchmark for manhood in my mind. I believe that eventually my brother will figure this out and emulate the best man that we know. Well, I’ve always had a blind spot when it comes to the people I love.

Which is where this tale begins.