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Discover more from Vic Koopmans
Liquid caffeine slides down my throat as I walk into the park. I stop and sit down on a bench made out of books.
The city park is nearly deserted this early morning. No wind and a few subtle rays of sun. The birds, dozing off on the branches of the trees, are on leave. I take a deep breath, hoping to breathe in anything else than the scent of feminine temporality.
“Girls, women, ladies and the remainder,” I mumble and close my eyes. Soaking up the sunlight. I’m an obscure flower desperately in need of photosynthesis.
The sound of a pretty woman sitting down next to me interrupts my process of evolution. I glance at her: a classy girl. She’s so good looking that she’s attempting to hide it with a thick sweater and loose fitting jeans. Afraid that no one will care about the actual person once her beauty shows.
“Trying to blossom?” she inquires.
I smile. “Something like that. Trying to act like a good boy and detox from Lucifer’s temptations for a change.”
“You can’t bribe your way into heaven, gordi.”
“I might. Speaking of that amusement park in the clouds: you kind of look like heaven.”
She laughs upon hearing my terrible one liner. “And you kind of look like trouble.”
“In trouble, maybe,” I answer.
“Why is that?”
“I’m caught in this web of late night escapades and early morning awkwardness. Surrounded by alcohol stains and cocktail dresses, high heels and low desires.”
“You’re a highly original man.”
Ain’t that the truth, I think to myself. All I do is go out at night holding repetitive conversations, providing duplicate answers. Copying and pasting, word for word, working my unorthodox 9-to-5. Pursuing everything I don’t care about.
I look at her long black hair and the whiskey eyes. There’s something about her. I can tell she’s the confident, intellectual type - my favourite. I smirk. “So, tell me ab…”
She puts up her index finger and waves it at me. “Don’t even try, amigo.”
I laugh and then sip from my coffee. “Fair enough. All I seem to do is take place in the cockpit, buckle up, lift off and fly on automatic pilot.”
“I, and every woman on this planet, can see that from a mile away. Don’t expect a different result with the same approach. Continuing will keep you stuck playing this superficial numbers game.” She runs her fingers through her hair. “Is that what you’re searching for?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not searching. But I’d like an actual spark and connection.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I don’t mind fooling around, but I’d like it to have the potential of becoming something more.” I pause. “With you for ex…”
She shakes her head and stands up, laughing. “Again, I’ll have to politely decline.”
She hands me the book that served as her armrest and pats me on the shoulder. “I’d suggest you read up.”
I stare at the book cover and then at her, walking away.
She turns around for a second and smiles. “You can always try again.”
I smile back and open the book. Knowing I’ll try again.
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