Tall, Blonde and Handsome Dreams

Tall, blonde, and handsome. There he was.

No, I had no idea what his name was. I didn’t even know who he was. All I knew is that he was standing in the parking lot of a familiarly unfamiliar place, with a few indistinct faces around him. 

I walked past the group, my backpack and my friends behind me. I looked over like I always do when I see a group of potentially age-appropriate good-looking boys, just to see which ones I liked. “Window shopping”, my mother called it. 

Except every time I would do it, the window would remind me of my reflection, and then any fantasies were shattered. There was a reason I was never able to finally make a purchase, and take something home all for myself. 

That is why I was so surprised when tall, blonde, and handsome came running over to me. He jumped up the curb with athleticism, grinned as if he was proud of himself, and started walking beside me. 

I don’t remember our conversation. I just remember that my two gorgeous friends were standing next to me, and he never glanced at either of them. Not once. 

It was like they didn’t exist to him, which was a foreign concept to me as they lived so prevalently in my mind. If I was him I would’ve asked one of them out already. How can anyone compete with thin waists, thigh gaps, glazed donut skin and charming smiles?

I was always disgusted with myself for being jealous of the people I was closest to, but I was never surprised when I was picked last. 

Which is why I was so shocked that he picked me first. 

We continued walking, his hand now in mine, as we laughed and joked about all sorts of things. I felt fuzzy, and looked at him just to make sure he was real. He was. He definitely was. 

I still couldn’t believe it though. I had finally secured someone who had liked me, without me even having to try and be something different, or put a heap of effort in. 

When we reached our destination my friends walked off, and smiled as they turned away. 

“I guess I’d better go now too.” he said, his voice deep and masculine, but still warm and comforting. As he looked down at me (a privilege I never thought I’d enjoy as a taller girl) I couldn’t help but stare into his beautiful blue eyes. 

He bent down, gave me my first ever kiss, let go of my hands, then turned and walked into the oblivion. 

When I opened my eyes I felt as if I had lost it all. I mourned all of what I could’ve had. Should’ve had. I wanted to go back, as if going back to sleep for fifteen minutes was going to pull me back into my fantasies, where I was loved and appreciated. Instead, I had to leave the true peace and comfort of the pink blankets over my single bed, and get back to the world where affection towards me could only ever be dreamed of.  

I hoped it would be recurring. I would see him again. After all, I was the girl that was brought up on romance movies and books and had a pinterest board of her dream wedding when she was 12. All I needed was the guy. 

All the other girls my age had found him, or experienced him, at least once. Why was I such a repellent that it had never happened to me?

I forgot about him, over the next few months, focusing on the things I was good at and could control, rather than those I couldn’t. Until one cold night in August, when I was able to see him again. 

“Are you alright?” he yelled, looking down at me while I swung from the rope. There was genuine concern in his face, but it softened once he was able to make out mine. I was giggling like a five year old, and when I let go of the rope I plunged into warm water. 

We were out on a yacht, who knows where, just us. He was dressed like Leonardo DiCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street (without the hair gel), and I was in a bikini. As in a real two piece. That even showed off my stomach. I wasn’t ashamed though, like I usually was. I felt hot. He made me feel like I was hot. Like I was his prized possession. 

After I had climbed back up we lay out on the loungers, eating a food that I couldn’t make out to a view that I couldn’t make out. The only thing that I could truly take in was him, and the music that was playing on the radio. Every Breath You Take. A classic. One that has been on my romance playlist since I was a tween. 

We got up, and we danced together as the sun sparkled orange on the water. His hands clutched mine and my smile matched his. This is what I had always wanted. Undivided care, attention and love. 

As the song closed he pulled me in, and embraced me like I was as small as my childhood teddies. 

But then I started getting colder and colder. I felt him disappearing. When I opened my eyes, I felt larger than ever. All alone, taking up my entire bed. I shivered. No more dancing in the Maldives. Or the Mediterranean? I’m not sure, I had no clue where we were. 

It was kind of my own fault I had never experienced this in real life. I had stopped trying to find a boyfriend when I had convinced myself that meeting people on Snapchat was cringe. I haven’t changed my mind. I just wanted meeting the one to be organic, like it was actually meant to happen. Plus, I knew that there was more to life than finding your other half—like making a name for yourself, being a big career woman, and making friendships that last. 

But every time I thought about my dream life I couldn’t forget the ideal husband. One that would cry as I walked down the aisle, one that would be there waiting for me after a long day, one that would genuinely pick me first.

It was thoughts like these that made me grieve Tall, Blonde and Handsome so much. Life is short, and marriage isn’t a guarantee. I just wish that he was. 

I continued to read romance novels like the hopeless romantic I was, hoping that one day he would come and sweep me off my feet. I hoped he would sing to me in front of everyone, or run to me after he’d scored the winning touchdown and kiss me in front of everyone on the bleachers. 

However, there was one stupid romance plot that I just couldn’t avoid. The cheapest shortcut in all of storytelling. The one where one party gets hurt so bad they end up at the hospital, and the other one freaks because they think their significant other could’ve been taken away from them. “Oh wow, I can’t believe we had such a stupid fight, I now realise just how much I love you because you nearly died.” Okay author, just tell me you don’t have any other plot ideas. Whatever. 

And of course, after typing my hatred towards this storyline out to the internet, I saw him again. 

It was after going to a concert with my girls. I went to bed exhausted that night, throat dry and scratchy from singing all of the songs, heels and pinky toes throbbing from extended use of cowboy boots. 

I found myself in a bed with white sheets—as opposed to my usual pink. But they weren’t hotel white. I could feel the bed moving beneath me as someone grabbed my hand. It was him. 

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t get it out. As we moved along I started to make out other figures, all wearing blue and funny-looking shower caps. Dammit. I was in a hospital. I freaking hate hospitals. 

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me, why I was here, and so the pace of my breaths started to accelerate. How long was this corridor? Where are they taking me? Am I about to die? 

I then saw his face squeeze, as if he had automatically computed all of the thoughts that were running through my head. He held my hand even tighter, and then leaned down to whisper to me. 

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.” 

The crushing weight of my legs and neck then became apparent, and I screamed, feeling like this could be the end. 

I looked at him again after I tried to contain myself, and he had raised his other hand up to his mouth to cover it. His eyes looked more moist than usual, and the blue had a hint of sadness instead of the usual optimism I was always so excited to see. It looked like he had realised that there was a genuine chance that he could lose me. 

I was only able to capture it for a brief moment, taking photos in my mind to save for a rainy day. That was until a purple potato sack was thrown over his head and he was pulled away from me. 

The bed started rolling along faster and faster, until his hand slipped away from mine. I immediately sat up and turned around, watching him get further and further away. There were two tall figures holding him, his hands pulled behind his back and everything. I didn’t know what he had done, I didn’t know why we were here. But as one of the nurses pushed my body back down and strapped me to my bed with three large-buckle western belts, I knew it was over. I heard the gun go off, and it was at this moment when I had realised the pain that true love could cause, because losing it would mean losing your everything.

It was my turn next. I started to feel like I was falling, and realised that the nurses had pushed my bed off of a cliff. 

I abruptly woke up before I died, even though a part of me felt dead anyway. The love of my life, although not a real person, was gone. And indeed, I never saw him again. 

It felt evil. The world had given me something just to rip it away from me again. Something I had wished for over and over again. 

Tall, blonde and handsome, I wish you weren’t just a dream.