Stranger.

I stopped, about to turn around, but you held me right there, wrapped my hair around your left arm, and I tried to turn my head but my hair was not long enough so there I stood, frozen on the spot and there were bodies bumping against me, dancing against the beat. I could feel your breathe against my nape. You loosened your hold and I turned towards you. My eyes tried to adjust from the flashing lights. I don’t know you. And I liked it.

I don’t go here. Well, at least not during weekends. I only go here on Fridays and rarely so. This place reminds me of you. You, in your tie and your dinner jacket, looking so pristine. Innocuous.. Harmless.. Tame, even. But during weekends, it turns into this wild jungle of profanities, crystals and frat guys and inebriated sorority sisters dancing on tabletops and poles until they start throwing up or passing out or, if they are not so lucky ( or lucky, if you see it that way), they end up screwing anyone and everybody within an arm’s reach. Right on the tabletop. And on the floor. And on someone else’s camcorder. So I only go here during weekdays. Not that I am afraid of what I might or not do or what might be done to me. I just don’t like going here especially on Saturdays. But one day I did, and that’s the only time. And that’s the only time I saw you.

I saw you coming in, looking out of place in your tie and dinner jacket. You looked like you were looking for someone, yet not looking at anyone in particular, looked lost, except that you seemed like you were some place far, somewhere else but here. But you appeared familiar with the place, or at least the place seemed to know you but nobody in the room did. You sat at the nearest empty bar stool. You didn’t people-watch but I did, still do, that’s how I saw you. There’s nothing remarkable about your face. You were not handsome, or at least not to some people’s standards. Your features, though, I liked. Narrow forehead, high-bridged nose slightly crooked, like someone punched you in the face, dislocating the bone just above your nasal orifice or perhaps ruining the hard cartilage or maybe you were born with it, the crooked nose. I thought you looked like a romantic figure with those dark circles under those eyes that were not so small but slightly Korean-looking. You were tall like most of the guys here. There was nothing remarkable about you yet you managed to turn heads. Perhaps they too noticed how out of place you were, how you looked like a high school boy who read books but played basketball and cheated on card games. Or perhaps you wore a strange scent or was that your sweat? You were searching for, I don’t know, perhaps, fun? But everyone was out here either for fun or to wallow in misery and, later on, have fun when the vodka started kicking in. They certainly wanted to get all the fun that could be had and of all places, they chose this spot. What is it like to have all the fun in the world? I don’t think someone would be able to tell me.

The bar stool beside you was occupied and right there I sat. I knew you would drop a line right at that exact moment you downed that glass of Cutty Sark.

Of all questions, this you asked, “How does it feel like to be a girl?” I laughed. That was not a very gay question. Okay, maybe a little. But nobody ever asked me that, and for the first time I felt like a woman. A woman like my mom or every one I know who were at least ten years my senior. Honestly, I never gave much thought about my gender. Why I was born a girl, not a boy, or why I get PMS or why I got boobs or why I am very physically and emotionally sensitive and why I prefer cuddling over making out. So I told him. “It feels like nothing you will ever understand. I’m sorry I can’t.. There are no words.. It is like trying to describe how great sex feels to someone who is inexperienced. You will get a little idea, but you have to experience it first.. You have to be a girl first.” And you said, “No freaking way. But just so you know, I am the most experienced guy you will ever know.” “Oh yeah? Just so you know, too, everyone in this room? Even outside? Everyone is experienced. Virgins don’t exist anymore.” “Oh no you are wrong. See my tie? It’s freaking tight!” We both laughed and I grabbed that tie loose and I had to ask you to ask me for a dance. “Go on, ask me!” “Okay, miss, may I ask you for a dance?” “Certainly, dear sir!” You followed my lead towards the dance floor. I picked a space just enough for two. I stopped, about to turn around, but you held me right there, wrapped my hair around your left arm, and I tried to turn my head but my hair was not long enough so there I stood, frozen on the spot and there were bodies bumping against me, dancing against the beat. I could feel your breathe against my nape. You loosened your hold and I turned towards you. My eyes tried to adjust from the flashing lights. I don’t know you. And I liked it.

You bought me a drink– Cutty Sark. My first time. I always ordered Bloody Marys. “So do you always wrap random girls’ hair round your arm in the middle of the dance floor?” “If your hair was longer, I would coil it round my waist.” “Why?” “So you would stay where I am at. I don’t want girls running away from me, especially you. Someone like you.” You reached out. I thought you were about to kiss me.

That’s when I woke up. Holy shit. I didn’t get your name. Stranger, who are you?

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4 thoughts on “Stranger.

  1. Dreams help us keep awake.

    A name is just a name, but still let’s call him Mr. Awkward-Tie. His tie must have been tight enough to choke some of his words, which must have also been his way of restraining his heart from telescoping to his throat, and lips.

    Great post! 🙂

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