She Ripped My Heart Out And Gave It To Me

I was just a moron with walkman and grungy clothes.  

I must have been fourteen years old. 
All I cared about was rock n' roll music. 

All I did was listening music and writing silly songs on a notebook I lost at some point.

I wanted so badly to play in a band, but I didn't even own an electric guitar nor I had friends interested on music, in the way I was. 

I wrote day and night: in classes, between classes, after taking a nap in my bedroom, before I get to bed, as soon as I woke up in the morning... 

I was obsessed with writing songs.  

A few months before I met Claudia, my dad had bought me an acoustic guitar.

It was a cheap guitar. It was enormous and heavy. 
I'd changed the strings of the guitar so I could play it as a lefty.

I'd learned how to play some Nirvana songs. 

To find an electric left-handed guitar was so difficult. I'd tried to learn how to play guitar with my right hand, but I'd failed. 

I felt I was a terrible guitarist. 
I couldn't even play three chords' songs.
I felt I lacked rhythm to play the guitar.  

Nevertheless, I was convinced that all I needed it to improve my artistic skills was an electric guitar. I knew electric guitars weren't heavy and enormous. 

One day, a cousin went to our house with a left-handed Ibanez.

Dunno how he got it. All I knew was that he was involved on dark businesses.

He wanted $2, 500 MXN for that aquatic green left-handed Ibanez. 

The guitar was beautiful. It looked like the one Alejandro Marcovich played in the recording of El Nervio del Volcán. It was so cheap. 

In the very few music stores that I could find left-handed guitars, they were sort of expensive: their price fluctuated around $8, 000 MXN... or more!!! 

Even though my dad could buy it for me, it seemed an outrageous and an unnecessary expense. What about my little brothers...?

Dunno why my mom believed I was so stupid, but definitely she believed it. She was convinced that I would quit school and that I would become a junkie, if she bought me that electric guitar. 

Maybe she also suspected that the Ibanez was a stolen guitar and she didn't want to buy a stolen item, but I begged her. I desired that guitar. I imagined myself playing it day after day, just right after I came back from school. I imagined myself playing it for entire afternoons. 

My mom told my cousin she was able to pay $2, 000 MXN for the guitar.
My cousin was so greedy and he refused the offer.

I had to wait nearly ten years to buy my first electric left-handed guitar, with my own money... but that's another story I could write about it some day.   

I was so sad. I desired that guitar, even though Ibanez wasn't my first option. 

I preferred Fender guitars. I would have loved to have a black Stratocaster with a black pickguard or a sunburst Jaguar '65, like those Kurt Cobain made famous.  

I was focused on my sadness, when I saw Claudia for the very first time. 

She walked slowly through the schoolyard. 

It was a sunny middle day. The sun rays were febrile and they made me ill.

Suddenly, she appeared out of nowhere and became a shining star.  

I felt nauseous, I lost my mind and thought I was about to have a heart-attack. 
Though nauseas had been common since I was a kid, those nauseas were pretty different, almost like chills crawling right up my spine. The heart-attack sensation was totally new. 

I felt immediately attracted to her, as she walked thru the schoolyard.
Claudia's hair was brown and very brushed. 
It shined like a meteor. 
Her skin was the most white skin I had ever seen in my entire life. 
It was so white that I could almost felt my eyes burning. 

She was like a strange cold sun. 

For a while, we looked at each other. 

She smiled at me. 

Nauseas, heart beats and the illusion of my eyes getting burned, increased. 

Some guys followed her steps.
They looked so dumb. They looked like generic elementary school boys. 

For a moment I could see some of them drooling like thirsty Pavlovian dogs.

A few days later, Claudia and myself crossed in one of the alleys of the school.

I felt like a thirsty Pavlovian dog, too. My breathing rhythm became irregular.

Nauseas, heart beats and the illusion of my eyes getting burned, increased. 

She really was like a strange cold sun. 

Dunno how I had the guts to do it, but suddenly I touched one of her shoulders and I asked her if we could speak. 

She was so surprised, but she accepted. 

I had been thinking of her for an entire week, so I had spoken to her in my mind several times.

I asked her what was her name.

I must have told her: “Like the girl Lestat turned into a vampire...?”

She must have smiled. Or she must have thought I was an idiot. 

From then, we spoke almost on a daily basis for a month or so. 

Everything was ok, until I told her that I liked her so much.

She adopted a pretty different attitude. 
She became so serious. She told me that she had a baby.

I was so surprised. She looked so young. 

Immediately, I envisioned how was her life. 

Probably their parents take care of the baby while she was at school. 

I even imagined myself carrying her baby. 

When I digested the idea, I focused on her face.

She was in silence, but it was so obvious. 

I saw it on her eyes.

Her eyes said:

“You're just a moron with walkman and grungy clothes...”  

“I'm looking for a mature guy...”

I still don't know if she really had a baby or if she just wanted to get rid off me, but then I believed her and I stopped speaking to her for a while. 

When I tried to do it again, she rejected me.  

It took me almost an entire year to get her out of my mind.

I was so miserable. Everything became dark. 

My life was a blacked torture. 

Days and nights were so long. 
I didn't know rejection felt so bad. 

It was so painful and awful.

I still remember myself lying on my bed, feeling ill.

Counting each second as they slowly turned into another slow second.

 

I wrote her several teenager dumb poems in several pages of that notebook I had been employing for writing my silly songs. I never read her one single poem.

As I write this post I wonder where are those poems. I should known where are them. 

It would be so funny to read them and to infer how miserable I believed I was.