The Naked Anime Girl is Me
Sean was a strange, awkward, adopted boy. I had a racist, homophobic friend who he’d liked in second grade. She had said she just wanted to be friends and brought him into our friend group. When there started to be rumors he liked me, she acted offended, disgusted at the idea, the gall to suggest that he could ever like anyone else. So I went to the movies with him. He held my hand like it was normal and I stroked his thumb like that was normal and then he kissed me outside the library after anime club.
He was slimy, and his mouth smelled. I kissed him back. No one was kissing me in those days–I figured I’d take what I could get.
Our first date was to Rita’s Water Ice. We sat eating our gelatos and he kept his heavy arm awkwardly over my shoulder, pushing me forward just enough that I couldn’t get comfortable. I said nothing.
“I wrote you something,” he said eventually.
“Oh?” I asked. This was promising.
He dug in his backpack, which also smelled, and eventually pulled out a folded piece of lined paper. I opened it, hopeful, and saw a badly drawn naked anime girl with a void hole where a dick would be, if she had a dick.
“It’s you,” he said. I gaped.
“Here,” he said nervously after a moment, taking it back from me. “Let me read you the poem.”
I will remember it to this day. This is not an accomplishment, as you’ll see:
There was also another anime character with his glasses playing the guitar. He, I noted, was not naked. He did have a six pack, though.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I am not ready for a relationship right now.”
Sean blinked, surprised. “Oh,” he said. There was a pause, maybe awkward, I was frankly just in shock.
He crumpled up the poem and dunked it in the trashcan, hard. I flinched.
“Come on, then, I guess,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”
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