Night in the Ruts

Not-So Company Car - Charlie

Roller-skating!  We went roller-skating!  Aerosmith took me roller-skating!  I love roller-skating!

        But Steven's never done it before ever.  Obviously.  He fell, and it was pretty funny, but then I fell, and I said, "shit," and I instantly apologized for it because I'm so stupid and used to not swearing.

        Oh, and he walked in on me while I was singing and playing.  Oh my God, I wanted to die of embarrassment.  Right then and there I wanted to crawl under my bed and never show my face to him again.  It was horrible.  But then he had the nerve to tell me I was amazing.  Not just good, but amazing!  I'm self-taught–how is that amazing in any way?

        Anyway, so we were roller-skating and his arm was around me, and he smelled nice, and it was all so much fun.  I never wanted it to end.

        I've gotten used to being around Steven.  So it's easier to crack sarcastic comments whenever I want.  Well, I call them sarcastic comments, but when Jess listens to my phone calls (when Steven calls her phone, she doesn't allow me in her room all by myself), she calls it flirting.

        I was sucking down a vanilla milkshake, sitting at a small table across from Steven.  We had finished skating, and called it a draw when he couldn't seem to win at Pong at the little arcade thingy in the corner.  Now we were at the little table, as mentioned.

        "I had no idea you were such a good skater," I said, not wanting silence.

        He shook his head, grinning, looking down at his hands folded on the tabletop.  "I am pretty great."

        "You need, like, training wheels."

        He laughs.  It's not fucking funny!  "Nah," he says, "I've got you."

        "Whatever," I say, smirking.  He just kind of stares at me with this mixture of happiness and something else in his eyes.  But then his smile falters.  "What?" I ask, immediately reaching to wipe my mouth.  Is there milkshake on it?

        "I was serious, you know," he says, still not smiling.

        "About?"  He confuses me.  A minute ago, we were laughing and talking and having a good time, but now I'm worried.

        "About you singing and playing the guitar.  I was serious.  You're amazing.  Hasn't anyone ever told you?" I shake my head, trying to be modest.  I mean, I think I'm pretty damn good, but compared to famous people or people with lessons and well, talent, I suck ass.  "Honestly, when I walked up there, I thought you were playing some record that I'd never heard and needed to buy.  I thought, shit, I gotta buy that... Now!  But then I saw you with a guitar and singing and I was like, Oh my God.  How can something so perfect get even better every time I see her?"  I don't think he meant to say that last part.  No, he definitely didn't mean to say it.  He's gone back to staring at his hands until the pink color in his cheeks fades away.

        "Perfect?" I scoff.  He looks up at me.  "Yeah, right."

        He scowls.  "Stop."

        "Stop what?"

        "Stop doing that!"  What am I doing?  "The whole... I can't play guitar or sing, I'm not perfect thing.  I'm saying you can and that you are, so you are!"

        "You think I'm perfect," I state, still unable to believe it.

        "More and more every time I see you," he replies truthfully, staring right into my eyes.