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Her Name Was Fiona

Her name was Fiona, and I was completely intoxicated by her beauty. She had long flowing blonde hair, a beautiful face, terrific body, an inviting aura, and a great care-free attitude. There was nothing not to like, and I drank it up completely. But like anything taken in excess, there’s usually an inevitable hang-over to deal with.

Fiona and I went to the same high school together so when I found out that she was also going to the University of New Hampshire, I thought that was the perfect ice breaker. Freshmen year we were in the same Intro to Wildlife class, and I approached her under the auspices of doing homework together. She agreed, and we arranged to meet up over the weekend.

That Sunday I swung by her dorm room. She gathered up her stuff and we headed out onto the grass yard in front of Hamilton Hall. The sun shone down on a large group of students lying in the sun, playing Frisbee, and otherwise just enjoying themselves.

We picked our spot and sat down on the grass, me Indian style, her lying on her stomach, head propped up with one hand, bare feet kicking up and down behind her. Where was I exactly? New Hampshire? I couldn’t think straight. What were we doing out here again? Oh, yeah studying. I was studying alright, but it wasn’t my homework. Instead I was fixated on the way the sun made her hair shine like gold. And the swinging of her feet hypnotized me into a stupor.

Time flies when you’re drunk. That year I lived on the 9th floor of Christiansen Hall, and every time we went up drunk, it seemed to take a split second. We called it the Lightspeed Elevator. That day with Fiona was similar. I felt like we were out there for only a minute, but it could have been hours. All I knew was it was over too soon.

We talked on the way back to her dorm, and I asked if she wanted to get together again. She replied sure, and said to call her. Of course I called that night and asked if she was free Wednesday. She wasn’t. How about that Thursday? No. She said maybe the week after that.

I called her a few more times and it followed a similar pattern. I offered some days and times and she was invariably busy. The interaction was quickly morphing into that scene in Swingers when Mike leaves the escalating pathetic series of messages on his girlfriend’s voicemail. My antics didn’t quite reach Mike’s level of awkwardness or pathos, but you get the idea.

One day after class I offered to give her a photocopy of my schedule so she could pick a time, and a look of surprise (or was it disgust?) spread across her face. “Look, Will,” she said. “I don’t need a copy of your schedule. I think you’re coming on a little strong and you need to ease up.”

And with those words, the buzz wore off.

My head started to pound and my stomach tightened in nausea. And it hit me. I was being…creepy. I swear to this day I had no idea up until that point. And it certainly wasn’t my intent. But when you’re drunk, the first thing to go is your judgment (some say inhibition, which is really a variation of the former), and I really had no idea. I apologized profusely. I didn’t realize I was coming on that strong. I swore I would leave her alone (and I did). How many gulps of her beauty did I partake in? I thought it was only one or two, but apparently I had chugged from the beer funnel of love and someone snuck in some 160-proof Devil’s Springs vodka at the end.

I appreciated the verbal slap to the face, because it sobered me up and quick. And Fiona probably prevented me from making an even bigger ass of myself later with serenades, poems, and flower deliveries all of which I subjected future targets of my intoxication to in later years. Like most people, sometimes I need someone to tell me when I’ve gone overboard, and I always appreciated it when it was the woman of my affection to be the one with the strength to tell me. Fiona was the first.

15 responses to “Her Name Was Fiona”

  1. Avatar emmy em says:

    Brilliant. Having been on both sides of the coin, this depicts the circumstances perfectly.

  2. Begh! You're obviously better off. Who'd want some bare-footed, indian-style-sittin', frisbee-flippin' UNH hippie chick anyhow? Not you. (Certainly not me.) That said, we've all probably been in your Birkenstocks before – love/lust does weird shit to one's head.
    …wildlife class? really, dude? man…

  3. Avatar WreckedUm says:

    Good read…I especially liked this line…
    "…the first thing to go is your judgment (some say inhibition, which is really a variation of the former)…"

  4. Kail Kail says:

    Great work, Will. Some girls are indeed 160 proof. But sometimes a girl is only like 5%, like Arbor Mist or some bullshit, and I'd still get wasted. That scene in Swingers is fantastic, but so hard to watch! He's totally cool by the end of the movie though, as I'm sure you're totally cool around women all the time now.

  5. Jason Jason says:

    Your honesty is impressive in this piece. I admire you for that, and the piece is amazing for it. I also really enjoy the specifics of the scene you're creating. Christensen Hall. Lightspeed Elevator! This gives it such immediacy. Thanks for sharing. Also, your Robin Hood picture for your bio is glorious. I've never seen a more bad-ass lookin' version.

  6. Avatar llxt says:

    first and foremost: thanks for your broad[er} interpretation fo this theme. at one point, i think i had this lined up for february but it seemed to obvious. but, this is a new twist for sure. fiona–who could've been larger than life–comes across as very believable, and your narrator/you as a slightly sober, but still sentimental guy. great combination.

  7. Avatar The Tailor says:

    Nice work, Will. Most guys would never admit to being creepy, even in an unintentional or well maining way. We've all been there, though. The scene from Swingers is a great reference, although I hate the movie due to the abject patheticness of that scene. Damn you, Kail, for making me watch that piece of crap during our college years.

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Will About Will

The recipe for my favorite cocktail? Open up a can of Guinness. Pour into a glass. Drop in a shot of Baileys. Does that count?

Read more by this author on 30POV .


December 2010
November 2010
On My Honor
October 2010
Witch Hunt
September 2010
If, Then.
May 2010
Small Crimes
April 2010
February 2010
"It's Complicated"
January 2010