Striptease

Chapter Title

I knew a guy one time who started seeing this girl. She wasn't the most
attractive girl in the world, but he was a really good looking guy. For
a short time the societal norms were put aside in the name of true love
as the captain of the football team fell for the girl's rugby team's
full back, it was actually pretty beautiful. For almost four years
everything was good and right in their world - our school had won the
nation-wide school football championship cup every year, while the
girl's rugby team also netted their own equivalent (not as big an
achievement - there were only another six girl's rugby teams in
Scotland (at least, six that fielded teams - there may have been many
more substandard teams (no offence))).

On her eighteenth birthday a big party was arranged a local restaurant,
the 100 capacity venue easily contravening fire regulations by at least
50 people, almost everyone who mattered in the world was there. Except
her boyfriend. He was on holiday with his family in Italy (that's the
kind of family they were). She was miserable. I remember feeling really
bad for her that night, but I also remember how good I thought she
looked when she wasn't wearing a stupid grin the whole time - being
quite a damaged person even at that age (I was a year younger) I
assumed that he was off filling his boots somewhere, so I felt a good
deal of anger toward him.

It hit about 10.00pm and I had been plying this girl with drink,
reassuring her that he wasn't running around the lovely Italian
countryside firing into every woman he found. The fact that she started
the evening having no such thoughts didn't stop me from sowing my seeds
of doubt. A few of the tables had been cleared away from the main area
to allow the disco to begin (the disco constituted an Indian gentleman
aged about 70 (no, really - the usual DJ had been hospitalised by
myself in an unrelated incident two days previous), a record player and
four flashing lights). Suddenly the lights came on full blast to reveal
the 6'2" football player standing on a nearby table in his kit, his
dark floppy hair covering half of his face dramatically.

A cheer and a whoop came from all the girls in the crowd as he flicked
the hair behind his ear. She had been dancing with me at the time, but
now I was completely forgotten as "their song" started playing. This I
don't recall - it was some insipid rock ballad about being there for
someone to the end of time. I grasped a pint glass that I had hidden in
my pocket really tightly and considered hurling it into his stupidly
perfect face in pure spite, but then I looked at her face. Her smile
was locked in a mixture of relief and utter joy, her eyes glistened
with tears of happiness and burned with unashamed desire and pride. I
let go of the glass and my heart rose at the thought of that love and
goodness in the world. I looked back at him to show some kind of
appreciation for what he had done just by being there.

He was stripping off to the music. Yeah, it was pretty funny, but every
girl in the crowd wanted him - hell, I nearly wanted him. After this
act, none of the fat or skinny guys in the room were going to get any,
the guy was such a good advertisement for perfection. Real jealousy
coursed through my veins and I regripped the glass. By this point he
was down to just his shorts, one sock and one studded football boot,
the rest of the clothes thrown to the crowd. He danced for a while more
before untying the lace and balancing the boot on his foot, waggling it
seductively. At this point I could see a red line in the space between
us, like God showing me the path my glass must take. I drew my arm
back.

And didn't throw the glass. For some insane reason, he had decided to
flip his boot to her (personally, I'd've left the pants for her, but I
suppose that's a personal choice issue). I don't know if his powers of
football just took over, or the hatred emanating from the 15 misfits
invited through pity took him over, or maybe God had other plans for
that night. In slow motion the boot tumbled deadly accurate past my
head by about an inch. I could even read the brand name (which will
remain nameless for legal reasons) and clearly see the stitching on the
three white lines on black (erm?). Her expression never even
changed.

I heard the crack as clear as day and a streak of blood sprayed over my
face - I remember thinking how warm it felt as she let out a tiny grunt
of surprise and fell to the floor. My excellent first aid skills and
caring nature kicked in and I hurled my pint glass at him, following
right behind it like an raging bull. I was brought down after two steps
by an angry female rugby player (a different one from the heroine of
this story). All hell was let loose as the world turned into flying
fists, feet and glass. As I shook the football captain's would-be
protector from my legs, I made eye contact with him. My glass had
missed its mark, but he was crying nonetheless, looking unbelievably
hurt. His eyes told me: "This wasn't supposed to happen". I nodded my
understanding and he was pulled off the table into the swirling
melee.

There were many repercussions that night. Our rugby playing girl had to
have nose reconstructed along with most of her upper jaw. She saw me go
for the football captain and thought it was really sweet. He had to
have his jaw set cos her dad fucked him up badly, unsurprisingly. He
attempted reconciliation on numerous occasions and would have succeeded
too, if I hadn't been helping him along. Everything he said became
twisted and everything he did seemed petty.

I defended him to her the whole time. But, no. She liked me.

He eventually cottoned on to what was happening and gave up in
frustration. Two years ago he got married to his long-term girlfriend -
the rugby player that brought me down that night. Her name eludes me,
but their daughter's name is Emily?

What happened to me through all of this? Well, I went out with the Full
Back for two months out of sheer guilt. How could I tell her that I
thought she was awful, and shallow. I mean, for Christ's sake, it was
an accident.

Yeah, so I felt bad for the captain. It proved I had a soul. But it
also goes to show that ugly people can be shallow and good looking
people can be nice. But deep down, most fat people are bitter.

End of parable.