The boy with the girlfriend years older and legs yards longer leaned over me today. One hand braced on the back of my chair, the other splayed out on the tabletop to my right. His mouth was so close to my ear I could feel his words on my skin. Words about the environment and government conflict, but that didn’t matter to my skin. I could feel myself moving away, trying to escape the prison he had made for me with his arms, breath, words and being. This boy had just been graced with a tuxedo and dancing and paper stars stuck to walls days earlier. Prom had looked good on him. He still made my skin crawl. I had fawned over this boy before, as had almost everyone else with good intentions and eyes that could see. He wasn’t the most handsome, he wasn’t the most kind, but he was smart, and genial, and had eyes that drew you in. The girlfriend with the legs is the first he has graced with that title, one I would not like to bear as she does, perched on her head like a crown. The boy has done this before, actions that make you feel wanted, that make you feel something. He touches your shoulders, or your hair, or laughs his melodious laugh. He is an A student in the art of flirtation, and in school as well. A head leaned on a shoulder, a word that shouldn’t be spoken when you have a girlfriend with legs that long. I wondered in that moment if he would dare get this close when his leggy babe was in the room; most likely not. I was not the first or the last he would lean around, and that’s why I went home and scrubbed my skin of his words and his breath.
          

I drove home with the radio loud, trying to drown out the words he had spoken on to my skin. I got out of my car unceremoniously on my short legs, and the smell of fresh rain on hot concrete greeted me. I breathed and breathed, trying to fill my lungs with something other than his scent. I felt sorry for his girlfriend, our names so similar, branching off only at the last letter. I wondered why he would risk her for me, maybe because she was leaving and I was staying, here to throw his words onto. He had been too close to me, and had left his mark. I don’t know why this boy is so repulsive to me. Maybe it’s because he’s not, and that’s why the way he acts is so repugnant and vomit inducing. This every girl belongs to me mentality does not correlate with the rest of him, the congeniality and good humor. Maybe his girlfriend doesn’t mind, but I know that I would. And so I try to stay at a distance, protecting my skin.