An excerpt from "Top of the World" a chapter from an untitled novel I'm writing

Top of the World

The girl sitting at the corner table is taller than my ex-girlfriend, Marie. The girl sitting at the corner table shyly glances at me over the book she is reading. At first I think that she’s looking at some good looking guy that’s behind me so I turn my head quickly to glare at the guy who’s stealing her attention. But there is no guy standing behind me. Just a wall, with a bunch of cheesy, old photographs that probably already came with the frames.
I turn my attention back to the girl sitting at the corner table. The girl, whom I will now refer to as Woman X. Why woman X? Because the girl whom I want to fuck sounds just a little bit crude now doesn’t it? Now that I look more closely, Woman X also happens to be taller than me, and taller than “The Girlfriend”.
Woman X has brown colored eyes … (or are they auburn, I can’t tell. She’s too far away), she’s hunched over a bit too much which makes her look gawky in a “I used to be a ballerina but I don’t dance anymore” kind of way.
She looks like someone familiar. I’m trying to figure out whom, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it. It’s just on the tip of my tongue. She looks so elegant and poised. She makes me want to run home and clean up my room.
Katherine Hepburn! No, wait… That’s not right. Audrey Hepburn! That’s it. I imagine her gliding about a 1940’s apartment, spinning around in a white dress, humming herself a little tune. Photos of far away lands that she’s traveled to are scattered around the room. There are photos with her in Naples, Athens, Egypt, and Rome to name a few. She’s cultured and to prove it, she has hardcover, first edition books on her shelves rather than paperback. Wait a minute, why are there men with her in some of those pictures?
She’s supposed to be pure. No man is supposed to come before me. For just once in my life, why can’t I be the first? I want to be compared to. I want for her future lovers to forever be compared to me and my skilled prowess in bed.
My imagination goes a little far sometimes. Reality sets in and I continue too look at Woman X. I wonder if she ever tries on her old ballet slippers at night before she goes to bed? I would if I had an unfulfilled, childhood ambition like ballet.
I leave the bookstore without talking to Woman X. What a wuss! I keep thinking to myself. You had your chance and you blew it. Idiot. Fine. Go home and feel sorry for yourself. Get in to your crappy little car and drive home to your dinky little apartment where no one visits you. I think I need more friends.

My crappy, souped-up car actually played a huge role in my first date with the Ex. With Marie. She was going out with a friend of mine at the time. However, Anthony paid little attention to her, so I felt justified in going after her. He really wasn’t that good of a friend anyways.
I offered her a lift home one evening after a terrible house party, which resulted in her leaving the house in tears because of Anthony. I found her sitting on the sidewalk, with mascara running down her cheeks.
“That’s no way to treat a girlfriend” I said, putting my arms around her. At the time I really wasn’t interested in her. I just hated seeing a girl cry, especially over a guy like Anthony. I can’t really remember what I said at all though. My memory is not too good but soon enough she was sitting in the passenger seat of my crappy souped-up car. Whatever I said must’ve been good, she didn’t seem to mind the car.
We drove in silence for a while until I stopped in front of the lookout of the city. Maybe it was the colorful haze of bright city lights caused by the pollution in the sky or maybe it was the fact that she was alone with someone other than Anthony. I will never fully know, but we fooled around that evening in the back seat of the car and soon fell into a murmuring sleep.
Early in the morning, a slight tapping on the car window awakened us. Groggily, I looked out the window expecting to see a police officer telling me to move the car but was surprised to see a baseball bat hurtling towards my head. Anthony had been looking for Marie after she ran out on him and of course some idiot had the nerve to tell Anthony that she had gone off with me in my car. Needless to say, Anthony was still a little drunk and not too good with his hand-eye coordination so he missed my window but ripped off my side view mirror. Fuck. I almost had a heart attack. Objects aren’t a lot closer than they appear.
I scrambled to the front seat of the car and I tell ya it’s amazing how fast you can move when a bat-wielding maniac is trying to take your head off. As soon as I put the keys into the ignition, and started flooring the gas, I heard a high-pitched squealing noise. At first it sounded like a far away tea- kettle, and then I guessed it was Marie. It wasn’t Marie. She wasn’t making the noise, because the noise was coming from outside. I looked out my window to see Anthony hopping up and down sans baseball bat. I had run over one of his feet and he was screaming like a banshee.
I drove off in a hurry. I didn’t want to stay to see him even more pissed off. We never heard from Anthony again. No… That’s not true. Not only did I hear from him a few days later, and quite loudly may I add but I also received a broken jaw for all my troubles. It was after breaking my jaw that Anthony left in a huff and never really bothered us again. Maybe it was his bruised ego, or perhaps it was his bruised toes. We’ll never know. That is most certainly a worthy start to a relationship. Not much of a first date but one hell of a story to tell your friends.