The Audience

So, it’s official. We’re going out. "For real" as she often points out thanks to my retarded nature that night at the party. It’s no longer just hanging out. It’s no longer just a girl I’m with at parties. It’s now my girlfriend.

And you know what? It’s not that bad of a deal, if I may say so myself. I never realized how humorous she could be. I just always assumed it was me who thought she was hilarious. And I only thought that I thought that because I thought we were going to be going out. Confusing, yes. All those thoughts.

Basically, she makes me laugh like crazy. And not just me, but my friends, too. Which in the beginning made me happy. The guys thought she was great and they’d try to talk to her all the time. But now, it’s like I’m not there.

Take for instance last night, we hung out at my friend’s apartment. The TV was blaring and all, but she sat in the kitchen chatting it up with this guy John. He was a friend of a friend of a friend…somehow, somewhere they saw each other before apparently. He made like two comments to her and suddenly she’s talking like they’ve known each other for years. They weren’t in there getting food, refills on drinks or anything like that. But they stayed in there for like twenty minutes, I swear.

I lean over the edge of the couch and see them standing just a foot or so away from each other. It could be more, it could be less. I was always a bad judge of measurement. I stare at John as he leans forward with a laugh and touches her arm. What the hell was that?! And she just laughs in return. If I ever did that, she looked at my hand oddly, then stared at me like I was crazy.

Finally mustering up the decency to interrupt the conversation, "What’s going on guys?"

She breaks from the laughter and faces me, "Huh?"

"Whatcha guys doing? You gonna come back in here?"

"Oh, we’re just talkin’," she smiled. With John remaining so quiet, I tend to question what he’s doing. Checking out my girl?

I raised from the couch and swaggered into the kitchen, "What are you guys talking about?" with a slight smile as I slip my arm around her shoulders. Staring down John. That’ll show him.

He looked at me uneasily and I knew I had baited it all in just the right way. He was trying to talk to my girlfriend. And trying to do God-knows-what with her. She’s not that type of girl. And if she were, she’d be doing that God-knows-what kind of stuff with me. Not this small version of that whiny blonde kid from N*SYNC.

The thought that I was referring to another boyband…well that just had to leave my mind quickly so I could assess the situation further as Amy begins to talk. As the words leave her mouth, I can see this Justin-wannabe look more and more uneasy at the conversation. "We were talking about music."

How original. How cliche. How lame. With a small chuckle, meant to be more intimidating than it seemed to sound, "What kind of music?"

She seems to begin squirming in the conversation and I begin to question her as well. I stare down at her blue eyes with furrowed brows and she had to have seen the anger quickly flash in my eyes. How could you not? She takes a few moments, but finally answers in a mumble, "The Backstreet Boys."

I look to John, still seeing the flustered look on his cheeks. Then over to Amy and she looks quite sheepish. In fact, that’s the same sheepish look I’ve encountered many-a-times when she says those words. Backstreet Boys. It’s become part of my regular vocabulary. Along with Sweet D, Train, Bone, Frick and Frack, and her beloved B-Rok.

If I could help myself, I’d be rich. I don’t know who could help me from what seems to be the ever-impending doom of my insanity. But I’m sure if someone could cure me of the slight likeness I have for that song The Call they would be rich by now. And I’m sure they’d be booked up until the next decade.

Amy then speaks up, probably knowing that my mind was wondering once again. "He was at the party the other night. He heard me sing," she then begins to laugh at her own outrageousness.

I can’t help but smirk at that. That’s Amy for you. She does some pretty stupid things, wallows in herself for being so stupid—or clumsy—then laughs and seems proud of it when others talk to her about it.

John then seems to be warming up to the conversation. "I hear you’re starting to like that song, too?"

With a hot glare, I whip my head to face him. "Huh?"

"Amy says you like that song? Just wait, you’ll like more."

"Excuse me?"

"My girlfriend is in love with them. She makes me listen to the CD in my car all the time. It’s catchy."

Giving off a groan I turn away and walk back to the couch. I would have been better off staring at the TV, still thinking that he was trying to hit on her.