This is the story of a woman I loved... loved a lot. Too much, really. Years ago. Am I still obsessed with her? That's what I'm about to tell you. If I had possessed any decent storytelling skills back in 2001 when that was the present day, I would have written it all down back then. But no matter, in a way it's timeless.
Many thanks to my volunteer editor, thewinedarksea, whose considerable investment of time made this a much better story. This is the first of two chapters.
(In other countries besides the U.S., her photograph would be A4 or 20 cm x 25 cm.)
* * *
INTRODUCTION: The Scanning Project (2001)
I was proud of myself for spending every weekend of the last several months slogging through the many boxes of photos I'd accumulated over the years. I knew that they'd never make it into the computer unless I did a rigorous editing and cataloging first. All the snapshots—literally thousands of them—had been carefully culled down, chronologically indexed, and were ready for the scanner. The final task was organizing the enlargements.
A few had been framed and were up on the wall, but the rest were in boxes I hadn't looked at in years. The last batch was the big envelopes that held the 8 x 10 prints.
Most were from my college days two decades ago. I slowly flipped through them, recalling fond memories and wondering how the photographs had survived those years. The last one made my heart leap. There she was: Darcy O'Dell, in close-up. Big round sunglasses perched atop her light blond hair, pretty smile on her face, bare shoulders in a sleeveless blouse—her 20-year-old radiance preserved for future generations to gaze upon. It was the only picture I had of her.
Yes, I had a crush on Darcy, big time; but back then she was in love with Steven, one of my close friends. I think many of us could tell a version of this story: admiring a buddy's wife or girlfriend from afar, wondering why fate hadn't matched her up with you instead. Or perhaps imagining the two of you as a couple in a parallel universe somewhere—but keeping those thoughts to yourself, of course.
PART 1: Life before Darcy (1980)
The story begins when I was starting my junior year at college. I was fortunate enough to have a little furnished studio apartment on my own. I had convinced my parents it was essential to have a quiet place to study without distractions from roommates.
By contrast, almost all of my friends had gone together to rent a large house on Belmont Street. The house had been stately once, like the neighborhood itself. Time had not been kind to either.
At any given time, at least six guys were living there, often with girlfriends moved in as well. If you remember the movie
Animal House
, you'd have some idea of the insanity that reigned, except there wasn't even the minimal control of a fraternity, much less a college dean.
Steven Carson lived at Belmont. I imagine that almost every group of male friends has a "Steven": better looking than the others, loads of self-confidence, and an uncanny ability to get inside the head of almost every woman he encounters.
If several of us met a group of new girls, it was a given that Steven would end up with the prettiest one. We had mostly made our peace with this; after all, many times his charisma seemed to rub off on us, too. If the other girls couldn't have Steven, then one of his buddies would do. I often felt like we were the roadies who were getting the groupies the rock star passed over, but sometimes you just have to accept that's the way the world works.
What I couldn't understand was why Steven frequently emphasized quantity over quality. One week he'd bed some beauty who was way out of my league, but then I'd see him go after a girl from the other end of the spectrum. I knew Steven was just adding to his list of conquests, but I learned a humbling lesson from one of them: a flat-chested, homely waif named Mink. I wondered if she had taken her nickname from the actress in the John Waters movies. Someone thought her real name was Melanie, but we didn't know for sure.
When Steven first showed up with Mink, I wondered what he was doing with a skinny dogface like her. She was passive and unsexy. Her poorly dyed blond hair was chopped short, and she dressed like a little boy: jeans, baggy t-shirts, and always the same pair of dirty tennis shoes. I don't know where they met, but she had a sad, wrong-side-of-the-tracks look to her.
It didn't take that long before Steven had dumped Mink for a more attractive gal, but it took
much
longer than anyone expected. Even so, she still came by Belmont regularly, despite Steven having other girlfriends present—even ones living with him.
We sort of tolerated Mink, letting her hang out with us, go on our weekend treks to City Park, or join the card games when we were short a player. She was quiet, pleasant, and never got on our nerves—more than I could say for some of the Belmont residents. Steven was somewhat friendly to her; the others acted like she wasn't there. I always thought having another woman around our male-centric place was a good thing. No one ever made a pass at her.
PART 2: The Lesson from Mink (1981)
One night I learned one of life's important lessons, the kind you never see coming. I was out the door of the Belmont house and heading down the sidewalk to my car when I heard Mink call my name.
"Jeff, can you give me a ride home? Valerie was supposed to come get me, but she just called and said she can't make it."
Valerie was another one of Steven's short-term conquests, plain and dull like Mink. She also kept coming around Belmont to hang out. That's where she met and became friends with Mink—both rejects from pretty boy Steven.
I was tired and didn't want to drive to some unknown part of town that late. She walked up to me and put her hand on my arm. "Please?"
"OK, Mink. Just tell me where to go."
When I opened the car door for her, she seemed surprised at the gentlemanly gesture. Her directions took us past the college to a well-kept neighborhood with modest homes. It was closer than I expected but still not a distance a woman should be walking at night.
"You can pull over here. I rent a little garage apartment. Can you walk me to my door? It's so dark back there."
"Sure." I went around to open the door for her. Mink took my hand and lifted herself out of the car.
"Thanks, Jeff. I didn't want to walk home this late. I doubt anyone else at Belmont would get up off their ass to help me."
It
was
very dark. I would have been nervous about walking back there by myself.
"The landlord doesn't want a light on back here. He says it keeps him awake at night."
We reached the stairs that led up to her apartment. After an awkward pause, she touched my hand.
"Would you like to come up?"
I had known Mink for about three months. I never thought I'd find myself standing in the pitch dark in front of her home with that question hanging in the air. The loneliness from my long stretch without a woman gripped my heart.
"Sure. That'd be nice."
When I stepped inside her apartment, I was shocked. I'm not sure what I expected to see, but it was the neatest, cleanest place I'd been since moving out of my parents' house. The contrast with the squalor at Belmont was striking.
As soon as the door was locked Mink surprised me by quickly making the first move, grabbing me forcefully and sending her tongue into my mouth. All my preconceptions about Mink quickly melted away. She was an excellent kisser, groaning with arousal, wrapping one leg around me, and unbuttoning my shirt as she ran her fingers through my hair.
I cupped her little ass in my hands, and she squealed with delight. "Bedroom," she gasped.
