<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Nat Gertler - Jenny


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Copyright 1995 Nat Gertler, all rights reserved
This story is for on-line reading from this site only, and may not be redistributed in any form.

How do I start this story?

I met this woman the other day.

Only that isn't really true. I actually met her at some random party 6 months or so ago. I vaguely remember saying "Hello", and that's about it. Her hair was red then, but her hair is like a mood ring.

Then again, the truth of this story doesn't really matter. What matters is that it is a story; that it is fact will not aid it if it is not good, nor will it be condemned if it is considered fiction.

I met this woman the other day. Her eyes were brown, her hair was jet black, bottle black. Her mind was free. Her lips (I would say "ruby lips", for that is easily understood to mean beautiful, but they weren't like rubies. They reminded me of just-washed plums, not in color, but in the way they looked firm, smoothly textured, somewhat shiny, and ever so tempting. However, the look of a plum has never been accepted poetically, so I'll leave it go at "Her lips...".) formed words of enthusiasm, of joy, of bitterness, all with the energy of the heart behind them. The topic was always the most imortant thing in the world until the next topic happened along, as they did with marked frequency.

She had a name, as such women often do. This time, it was "Jenny". Other women had other names. Other women had this name as well, I suppose. It really isn't significant, because while the name indicates her, it in no way describes her. Still, I will refer to her to as "Jenny", because to refer to her as "the lady with brown eyes, black hair de jour, free mind, and (plum-like) lips which made joyous noises" would soon be cumbersome. As long as that is what you picture, "Jenny" will work fine.

Jenny (that feels so limited, such a betrayal of what she really is. It will take me a while to acclimate to this.) was between romantic entanglements, a position that she found herself in frequently, but never for long. She waxed for a while on the jealousy of her latest ex-boyfriend, a jealousy that she termed "insane". That was wrong, but she couldn't understand it. Jealousy is fear that you are going to lose someone, and with brown eyed Jenny, that fear was most sane. You could try to hold on tight to her, but you would only smother her, and she would struggle away. You could try to seem open and grant her all possible freedom, and she would flit away like a butterfly. You could never make Jenny yours; Jenny belonged to Jenny. If you could appreciate her when she flitted by you and then not miss her when she was gone, you would be fine. But then you would be a better man than I.

From the way this sounds, you probably are already guessing what happened. You're guessing that she flitted by me, and then left, taking my heart with her. If that's what you think, you weren't paying attention. I met her just a couple of days ago, remember? Now sit back and let me tell the story. That's my job. All I ever did was kiss her, anyway. Just a few times.

Dammit, this is all a lie. It wasn't a few days or 6 months ago that I met Jenny, it was 18 months ago and we went out for a month or two and then she left me and took her brilliant spark out of my life and I miss her now. That's what happened. That's all that happened, the whole story.

God, I miss her.

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