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By angieubaldo Date: 2005 Sep 21 Comment on this Work [[2005.09.21.18.01.26678]] |
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Her skins smells like dove soap, it reminds me of my grandmother and the way her hands smelt as she caressed my face as a young boy. She leans in close to me, and grabs the lighter off the table. Her scent takes me back to a place where none of this mattered. Everything was just as it seemed, there were no illusions to guide us. The blonde highlights in her hair seem to glisten in this light, the cigarette smoke rest on the air like memories lost in time. I can't help but notice the discerning look on her face and she studies me. She lights the cigarette, and brings it close to her lips, and inhales deeply. She doesn't even smoke. She the kind of person who smokes with a few cocktails on a girl's night out. She brings it away slowly, leaving cherry lip gloss on the butt. She offers me a drag and I nod. She places it on the ash tray. "No thanks, I would rather die of a heart attack" I say sarcastically. She laughs. "So, this place sure does suck tonight, doesn't it?" she says, scanning the crowd with her eyes. People dance around us, each one looking for something they lost in the crowd. Their bodies writhe to the music, hypnotized by the beat. "Yeah I guess, I never was one for this kind of scene. I would rather be at home, watching a movie, with some candles burning, or something like that," I mutter, the words echoing after I say them. Sometimes I loathe the verbal vomit that comes out of my mouth "Yeah you probably listen to Yanni too, you always were the romantic smuck." She laughs, "Why can't I find a nice guy like you?" The words echo in my mind, "nice guy like me" yeah they all say that, but when it comes down to it, they all want a man who will torture them. Women love drama and conflict, this I know from watching sex and the city. Deep down they are all Carries in disguise. She sips her red bull and vodka and I can see her watch the people dancing. She looks lonely, our eyes meet and she smiles nervously. She looks away quickly, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She can't look me in the eye. She smiles at me and I notice her smile has an emptiness to it. It shines with a rhinestone beauty. To fake to be real, just enough to pass for diamonds to an untrained eye. I can see through it though, I know she is dying inside. "So, what is a guy like you doing out with a friend like me, on a Friday night. What you had a date cancel on you too? No hot chicas to entertain you?" She asks curiously. She is staring to get buzzed and her eyes have a glossy film on them Truth was I can't remember the last time I had a date, and we were anything but friends. I have a firm belief that a "friend" is someone a woman doesn't want to date, but she keeps around just in case she gets bored. "Nah, I was just bored, and I wanted to hang out with you." I say "Oh I see." She looks around, the room. "So another round?" she asks waving a twenty in her hand. She has fake fingernails, the kind with the white tips on them. "Sure, why not. I ain't driving", I say, trying to act like a cool guy. The waitress comes by and she whispers something in her ear and smiles at me. Sometimes I feel like she makes it a point to flirt with everyone in the room but me. The waitress looks at me, smiles, and walks away. "So what is it you want from me Denny? I mean, we hang out, we talk, we share drinks, but what is it you want? I mean I want you to be my friend, to be the one guy in my life who doesn't try to sleep with me. Well who isn't gay of course. But what's it in for you? " She was pretentious and slightly stuck up, but I loved her, I loved her since the first time I saw her. I didn't know what was more infuriating, the thought that she believed that I was like every other guy, or the truth that I wasn't. The truth that I saw beyond her fake smile and all the makeup she wore, that I could see that she had been crying before I picked her up tonight, and that her mascara was still smeared. The truth that I saw through all her disguises, all the masks she wore, that when I looked at her, I saw my life, I saw my future, I saw more then a blonde with a hot ass, and a killer rack. I could be everything she wanted, if she would let me. "Well actually I was just hoping to sleep with you, and call it a night, but since that's not going to happen lets just get drunk..." I say. She laughs at my lame attempt at a joke. I couldn't possibly tell her how I feel, ever. I smile, hoping to ease the tension. As the waitress shows up with our drinks she goes to hand her the twenty. I stop her. "Let me get this round, you can get the next one." I pull some money out of my wallet and hand it to the waitress. "Keep the change," I tell her. She smiles at us and walks away. I wanted desperately to tell her how I feel. To take her in my arms and sweep her off her feet, call me and old romantic. Sometimes, I despise the way I am. Why can't I be a pig like all the other guys, why can't I be the "alpha male", 'love em', and 'leave em'. The words boiled up on my throat, and I just swallowed them down.. "So I see you got us shots, you wily minx. If I didn't know you better I would think you were trying to be me drunk." I say. She just looks at me and smiles. The truth was, if I told her how I felt, she would never hear it. My words would fall on deaf ears. I know her well enough to predict her reaction. "You are a real sweet guy, but.." then she would pause and pretend to feel bad, "You aren't my type, I just don't want to ruin what we have." We didn't have much but sharing drinks on a Friday night. But it was enough for me. I wanted to love her, but that would never happen. She wouldn't let it. She wanted to keep me at a safe distance, to keep everyone at a safe distance. She only let guys in long enough to demoralize her. Why, I don't know. Maybe she had been hurt, or maybe she just didn't like me. Maybe she believed it was better to be alone, then to be vulnerable. I guess I will never know. She hands me a lime, and we make a toast. "To friendship," she says. "To friendship," I echo. I chug down my shot, try to drown the pain. The lime is sour, almost as sour as the word friendship used to describe how I feel. The taste still remains in my throat as I keep trying to swallow it down. I feel light headed and almost ready to puke. I glance across the crowd as the people keep dancing to the endless beat, still hypnotized by the music. |