It can never be me!
I’m sorry to break it to you, my friend; it can be you.
It can be you within five business days or less after making such a delusional and wishful declaration. Do you want to know why?
Well, let me tell you a story about a girl called Vanessa.
Every once in a while, the universe conjures up a phantom, an apparition that defies the natural order of things. This might come in the form of a visionary, concepts, beings, innovation, etc., but in this case, it came in the form of an ethereal being called Vanessa.
A woman with beauty and grace that is beyond describing with just words. A tall, slim, ebony frame that gives your average bulimic beauty pageant a run for their money even with their unrealistic beauty standards. Legs that go on for days, piercing blue eyes that can hypnotize the most strong-minded of Shaolin monks and a body that can have celibate priests questioning their piety.
Before you go ahead and say this is too much of an exaggeration for a woman, know that you weren’t there to see what I’ve seen so… trust me, and most importantly, this is my story.
The strong winds of chance blew her my way and our paths crossed, and as you’ve probably guessed, I did what any man in my particular position would do — I fell for her… hard!
Now, I know looks aren’t everything but I think I do alright in that department, I might not be a model of some sort but according to my mother, grandmother, and some other old people, I’m quite the catch. I am, however, constantly plagued by the presence of a big scar on my left elbow resulting in the needless insecurity that dictates my fashion choices to mostly long-sleeved clothing but still very much a catch nonetheless, and with this, I thought myself a worthy companion to the goddess Vanessa.
I will never forget the day we met.
There I was, slumped on an airport chair, thinking hard about why I chose to travel on that day of all days. My flight had been canceled due to severe rain and thunderstorms and so I sat in deep thought, with my head bowed and face cupped in both palms, surrounded by the sound of flight announcements and chatter from stranded passengers.
“Hello, is this seat taken?”
I looked up to see where that angelic voice emanated from and there she was, in all her allure, captivating every eye in the hall.
“N-no, not at all, please have a seat,” I managed to stammer.
Her presence was magnetic, a blend of grace and confidence that seemed almost otherworldly. Each movement she made was deliberate, yet effortless, drawing attention without seeking it. Her beauty was not just in her appearance, but in the way she carried herself, exuding a quiet strength that spoke volumes.
In that moment, I couldn't look away; she was the embodiment of elegance and charm, a living, breathing masterpiece.
“Oh, what a sunny day,” I muttered under my breath.
She looked at me in wonder, the lines on her forehead deepening. “Are you alright? It’s raining cats and dogs outside.”
“Well, not where I’m sitting,” I said with a smile.
“How so?” she asked, curious.
“As soon as you walked in, the whole place just brightened up. I’m just surprised you’re not seeing it,” I answered with as much courage as I could muster.
There was a brief pause that felt like the longest silence I had ever experienced. What if she thinks I’m a weirdo? What if she doesn’t find my comment funny? What if? What if? I was lost in thought.
She finally turned towards me, her long, silky hair falling over her shoulders. She smiled and, with the calmest voice I’d ever heard, said, “Ah, I see you’re one of those.”
“One of what?” I inquired.
“One of those rizz boys who think they can just spit some very wack lines and have a girl swooning.”
I looked at her with a smirk. “Well, is it working?” I whispered.
“Oh, please don’t flatter yourself,” she said, fighting hard to suppress a laugh. I laughed wholeheartedly because — did you see what I just did right there?
“So you’re a smoker?” she said, shrugging her shoulders and pointing at the red lighter in my hand.
“Oh no, never! I just use it as a keyholder,” I quickly answered.
She smiled, and I smiled. Mine was because if all went well, I might have just found my future wife. I didn’t know what her smile was for, but I hoped it was for the same reason as mine. It certainly was, because a few months later, we were engaged to be married.
I’m a man of routine, never failing to wake up to the sound of my alarm. But today was different. I woke up bright and early before the alarm had a chance to ring. I switched it off, putting it out of its misery, as I often do on those rare days when I beat it to the punch.
The day promised to be a good one. I was finally meeting my fiancee’s family in person after a few phone conversations, making it an eventful occasion. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but the anticipation left me feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, making my stomach churn with a blend of paranoia and thrill.
I could feel it in my bones — even the scar on my elbow was itchy. This hadn’t happened in quite a while, and it was all I needed to know that something big was about to happen. By the time I got out of bed, the itching had intensified, confirming my suspicion.
To put my mind at ease, I needed to consult my diary, which contained notes from my sessions with Dr. Giuseppe, my psychologist and therapist. It was in his clinic, during one of our intense therapy sessions, that I was diagnosed with compulsive pyromania.
I used to be something, someone that I wasn’t very proud of but I wasn’t ashamed of either. The possibility of becoming that person again after so long filled me with a dark, giddy excitement.
The itching grew more intense, and I scratched fervently. Of course, it was going to be an eventful day. Something big was going to happen — something bad — and I couldn’t wait to be at the center of it all.
To be continued…
This is the first part in the It Can Never Be Me! series. The second part can be found here.
