The Future has yet to Hurt Us.

Most people didn't like Arabella.
It wasn't that she wore only black.
Or that she never smiled.

People were scared of her, because she was honest.

Most people, you see, have a 'them' that not even they really know.
They hide from themselves all their lives, by working and playing and sleeping; until one day they are old,
and are shocked to realise they have no idea who they are, or if they even
like themselves.
They project a personality to the world, good or bad, but there nonetheless.
Like 'the moralist', 'carefree', or 'the goth'.
All valid choices, as choices go.

But Bella 'just was'.
She projected nothing at all.
She was a blank canvas.
You could see nothing of her on the surface, but it was frightening how if you came
close enough, you could see your own reflection.
Like looking into a pool of dark water, or a deep, cold dam.

If you asked her a question, she would answer you.
Free of the filtered language imposed by culture.

Example:
Q. "Hello, how are you?"
A. "Like you give a fuck?!"
That sort of thing.

She wasn't trying to be rude, but really, who does give a fuck when they say that?
Polite people and teachers ran in fear.
And negatively phased rebellious peers were cut down too, like pale saplings, exposed to the chainsaws of their own hypocrisy.
"Don't waste my time!", said Arabella. "I don't want to attend to your stunted emotional pliagarism. Do something original."

She stayed home on prom night.

But Bella was happy, happier than anyone could ever realise.
Happy, because she was realistic.
Life has no purpose, but that's no reason to be sad, is it?
She was secure, she knew the secret.
So - she was happy to not go to college, happy to read books inside all day.
She had no-one to impress, no higher power to answer to.
No reason to aspire to anything other than 'here' and 'now'.
No future to be hurt by.

I met her at the gas station.
She was filling up her ride, playing games with the pump.
Staring it down, trying to get exactly $100.00 worth of gas in her tank.
No more, no less.
She looked like a mirage, through the waves of rising petrol fumes.
Like Cleopatra before the asp.

Her hair was raven black and long, except for a precise fringe, laser cut to her eyebrows.
No makeup.
I'll say it again - no makeup.
I was having impure thoughts.

She caught me looking, and stared like Mr Spock at a rock show.
And she didn't smile at all, not even when I did.
She gave me nothing, but the weight of her gaze, the responsibility of her attention.
Like, "I'm looking, now what?"
ACTION!
I was in her movie.

Pickup lines do not work here.

We're staring at each other, the smile on my face retreating shamefully behind a look of chastisement and woe.
She made me feel like a dog.
Like I'd shat on her rug.

She broke her stare, bored with this game, and went inside to pay.
So I stole her car.

Not so bad really, as I'd left mine fully gassed and ready to go back on the forecourt.

I saw her in my rearview, a good half mile behind.
She must have been driving slow, as her Honda wasn't exactly built for speed.
So I pulled over to the side of the highway.
I debated whether to wait inside or out. Out won.

I sat on the edge of her bonnet, the butterflies in my stomach being consumed by snakes, and scorpions.
And bears.

She pulled up in my car, and parked in front of her own. She got out, and walked back to me like a cop...that stare again.

I was braced for injury, she looked like she could kick if she wanted to.
She was right in front of me now, the gravel crunching under her boots, like in a western.

"What's your name?" she demanded, sounding tired, and not at all frightened of anything.
"Ray", I replied. "Ray Manzarek (no relation)".
"Well Ray" she exhaled, "You had better be worth it".
I didn't know what she meant at all.
"My name is Arabella".

"I guess you'd better come back to my house." said Arabella,
in exactly the same way an overworked emergency room doctor would say "I guess we'd better amputate".
I loved the way she said that.
Like it was fact.
Like it was inevitable.
Like it was obvious.

Our first date.