October 14, 2007

• It was like watching a train wreck. A really, really emotionally embarrassing train wreck.

  Having had a few drinks, and by few read: two shots of hard liquor and half a Long Island, all within the space of 5 or so hours, she engaged in a battle of wills with gravity – one which hovered over a stalemate until her friends forced her to sit between them on a stool and eat a baby bag of chex mix.
  Her sweating drink they surreptitiously replaced with a bottle of water.
  And as the hours moved towards Last Call, she found herself leaning heavily against his warm and unyielding side.

  Meanwhile, I can only guess what was going through his mind as he kept up the flow of light conversation with an aged bartender wearing a Viagra cap, not a pause in breath or sentences to reveal how much he’d had to drink that night, his hand straying to the left every now and then to push her Long Island further away from a searching and inebriated hand while sweeping stray chex pieces to their doom.

  Hold on – did he just run a finger over her arm – ?

  The movement was so fast, but there was no mistaking its intent to soothe, to calm, to inquire if she was all right – all in a stroke of skin on cloth.

  Or perhaps she imagined it, a wistful wish thought that pierced through the fog of alcohol muddying the normal clarity of her brain.

  They played pool for a bit, and it helped the alcohol work through her system to render her somewhat more coherent in an effort by her friends to make sure she could drive home. And as the game ended, he told her how much fun the night had been.

  “I had thought  you weren’t going to come tonight,” she stated with half a smile.
  “I wouldn’t have missed it. This whole visit home has been great so far.”
  “What are you doing tomorrow?”
  “I’m seeing some of the guys from my old high school,” he replied, and proceeded to reveal his itinerary, yet she couldn’t help but feel disappointed when he didn’t take the opening she gave him to inquire about maybemaybemaybe a Date of some kind.
  At that point she did something she rarely ever does and reigned in runaway words and questions which threatened to reveal far too much about what she was feeling towards the dark-haired boy.

  Not hearing anything that could indicate a returned interest, she let herself fall into the dissipating mist of
  inebriation and tried not to be too disappointed when he neglected to ask for her phone number or second date.

  The hug was the most excruciating event – the squeal of rusty brakes on sharp tracks, the collision of metal limbs, the sparks flying and dying in arcs like hope failing to breathe in reality – the hug goodnight was a train wreck for all who knew the loneliness that plagued her heart.

  • 9:33 am
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