- Come on! Say it! What’s the worst thing that can possibly happen?
You say.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re in my dark bedroom. So dark that I can hardly see the outline of your body, your face. But it’s not too dark for me to see your eyes. They’re sparkling. They’re laughing. They’re talking. They’re telling me that my secret’s out; that it’s not my secret anymore; that you already know. I’ve never seen you so young, so excited before.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re touching. You have your hands on my arms. You’re digging your fingers into my flesh. It hurts. But it’s not why the tears keep running down my face.
I’m still house hunting. I’ve been, for more than a week now. And I’m getting frustrated. I’m given about two weeks to find a place and move out. Half the time is already gone. My dad is coming over for a visit shortly. And all I have is a number of empty promises from a bunch of liars called housing agents.
I’ve called everyone I know. I’ve used all the favors I could ask for. I’ve swallowed my pride a lot more than I ever planed to. And still nothing happens. It’s probably because I’m a girl. Too young. Too sweet and gentle looking. People don’t take me seriously. They don’t buy my threats. And they take pleasure in wasting my time so they can meet me and talk to me some more. I’m that kind of girl.
As usual, at least in the past few weeks, I call you when I get too depressed. You’re my friend; my best friend; even though we’ve known each other for weeks only. I call you, and I give you the whole speech about why I can’t find a place.
You offer your help.
I’m not sure if it’s what I want; if it’s why I call to talk to you in the first place; or if I’m just feeling relieved and happy that you offered to help. I think it doesn’t really matter anyways. You offer your help. You mean it. And you are able to help. Why should I worry?
You come to my place in the evening. Your wife, Molly, is with you too. I’ve been promised a flat. I’m supposed to go have a look today. We arrange for Molly to stay with my mom, who’s staying with me for a while.
I love that arrangement. I take you with me, the agent sees you, he’ll know I have a man to take care of me, he won’t fool around anymore. Besides, I’ll get to spend time with you, talk to you, some more.
I suggest taking a cab. You disagree. You suggest we ride your bike. I’m not happy. But I accept. Riding your bike? Sitting that close to you? Pressed against your body? Being forced to hold on to you at times? Touching you? I’m not happy one bit. What if I lose control?
I try not to sit too close to you. I try to touch anything, hold anything, but you. And it’s not half as bad as I thought it would be. We’re having fun. You’re your-fun-self again; the fun talkative guy I love so much. Yes, you heard me, love.
And you keep talking and joking about everything. Meaningless jokes. Purposeless talking. You must be having fun too:
- Hey! Look at that erected stone!
- Spike! Watch your mouth please!
- I know. I can be very rude at times!
I never knew that. But it’s another new side of you that I love. I love the way you’re still laughing at your own rude remark. And I’m happy that you’re so clueless. You can’t even imagine that I’m in love with you.
We reach the office. The agent tells us that he still hasn’t got the keys. We should wait. Instead of sitting inside to wait, you suggest we take a walk. You say you want to smoke. Do I believe that? I don’t care. I’d rather be alone with you, even if it’s on the street.
We talk about everything; from here and there. One of the things we always talk about is how you believe in me; how you believe with a little more self-confidence I can do anything I want. I don’t know how or why or when, but I’ve become a sort of responsibility for you. You feel you have to give me the courage to stand up for myself; to stand up in public, to be more exact. Feels good that you care.
You wonder why a girl like me who has everything, in your opinion, lacks self-confidence. You wonder why I’m so scared around people. You don’t know that I’m like that when I’m around you.
- You see, I’m confident more than enough. I believe in myself. I know I’m an exceptional woman. Like, I believe I can have any man I want. But when it comes to friendships, when it comes to you, it’s different. I can’t see you as a man. You’re my friend. I feel I’m not so good at being a friend, though I’m a great girlfriend.
That almost says how I feel about you. Any woman would understand. But you’re a man. You’re not supposed to be smart enough. That’s why I can be reckless with what I say. I then change the subject before it’s too late:
- Who do you think we should tell the agent you are? I want to pretend we’re related.
- I don’t know. Shall we say brother-in-law?
- I like that. I don’t love or hate you enough, to say you’re my brother. Brother-in-law is fine.
- No! I don’t wanna be your brother either!
I let it pass. But, something in the tone of your voice is wrong. Or is it the quick glance you give me? I’m not sure. All I know is that you’re so desperately against being my brother. Can it be…? No! It’s not possible.
The agent keeps us waiting for a couple of hours. I don’t mind. I don’t think you do either. We talk. We laugh. We smoke. We chew gum. We nibble on biscuits. I call to tell my friend that I can’t make it to her boyfriend’s birthday party. I’m getting a kick out of the whole thing. Having a great time. I hope you do too.
We finally give up. It’s too late now. It’s dark. We’re both hungry. My mom and your wife are getting restless too. They keep calling us to see what’s happening. We head back home.
It’s too late now. And it’s dark. Night’s settled in. Probably why I’m being a flirt though I try hard not to be.
- I need your advice. You always tell me that I shouldn’t change who I am for anybody. What if I want to do something which will upset a friend? Should I do it, or should I not, for the friend’s sake?
- Hmm. Let’s see. That depends on what you want to do. If you want to pick your nose and you know that it upsets me, then don’t do it!
Smart-ass! Do you do it to stop me from going further, or do you really not have any clue?
- Well, it’s nothing like that. Let me give another example. Let’s say I want to kiss a good friend to thank him for helping me. But he’s married. His wife might not like it. What do I do?
- I see. If that’s the case, I say go ahead and kiss him. Never mind the wife!
Your voice is full of laughter as you say that. You’re not totally hopeless after all. You may not be a flirt yourself, but you handle flirts just fine!
You’ve encouraged me enough.
Back at my place, in the half dark parking lot, I gather all my courage.
- Hey, Spike. Wait a sec.
You turn to look at me. You know what’s about to happen. I wait for you to make a move. Any move. Encourage me. Stop me. Anything. You just wait.
I’m not so brave either. I take a small step forward. I put both arms around your neck. I intend to hold you for a second only, long enough for the lightest butterfly kiss on your cheek. Not that I don’t know those can be quite erotic too!
I can’t kiss you.
Before my arms are all the way around you I feel myself trapped in yours. You have both arms around my waist. You’re holding me tight. You’re squeezing me. You’re pressing me against your chest. You’re crushing me. I hear you inhale like you’re smelling me; are you?!?
Before you even begin to let go I feel the blood rush to my face. My face is against your neck. I’m sure you can feel its heat if you can’t see the flushed face. I break free. I practically run towards the lift. We are both silent. I don’t even look at you. Do you?
It’s too late now. I insist that you guys stay for dinner. As you sit to talk to my mom, Molly joins me in the kitchen. I’m making a fast pasta dish. And I’m making fun of the way you try to charm older women. Molly and I are both having a good laugh. Until she decides to ruin it, for all of us, for the rest of our lives.
- What will you do if we tell you that we’re not married?
- Why would I do anything?!?
- That would mean we lied to you!
- Hey, you know what; I’m your friend, not your god! If you lie, if you choose not to share something, it means that you have a good reason. I’m ok with it.
- Even if we’re not married? If we’re brother and sister?
- Whatever. It’s not my place to judge you. I’ll be your friend anyway.
I’m sure I sound convincing. But my heart is beating like crazy. It’s jumping out of my chest. It’s pounding against my ribs. It’s tearing my insides apart. Can it be true? Can it possibly be true? Isn’t it too good to be true?
I still pretend not to care.
Now I can’t wait for the night to be over. I need to be alone. To organize my thoughts. To decide my next move. I just need to be away from you. It can’t happen
It’s Molly who suggests we drink the bottle of wine you guys brought me before we have dinner. I can’t say no. I get the wine and the glasses. I put on my mild music and put out the lights. We sit down to drink.
The bottle is finished before we know it. There are three of us drinking after all, with my mom just taking part in the conversation and not the drinking. We’re not even close to being drunk yet. I don’t know why we should, but we all seem to want to get really drunk. I bring in my bottle of Absolute vanilla vodka.
Now we’re getting drunk. We take silly pictures in the dark. We make stupid jokes. You ask me what I’m getting you for your birthday.
- What the heck! I’ll give you a kiss!
Molly is the most drunk though she’s drunk the least. She insists that I kiss you here and now. I’m almost drunk too. I get up, stumble, lean on you, and kiss you, really kiss you, on the cheek. My lips touch your skin. I feel fire. Can you feel it too? I guess I’ll never know.
We then talk about love. Such an upsetting subject. I even say the most stupid sentence of the night, or the whole century even!
- You guys don’t know how it feels to be in love with someone you can never have!
It’s too late. A wonder that my phone rings. More surprisingly, it’s one of the agents. I ask you to take the call. You take the call in my bedroom. I follow you after a couple of minutes.
The room’s dark. You haven’t turned the lights on. Neither do I now. You’re standing at the window. Talking seriously. But you smile as you see me walk in. I wonder how we see each other in the dark.
I walk closer. That’s my problem with being drunk. I know what I’m doing. I can tell if it’s wrong. I just can’t stop myself.
I walk closer. I stop half a step away from you. You’re still smiling. I mouth “what is he saying?” You ask me to wait.
The call is over. Neither one of us talks about joining the others in the living room. We don’t even talk about what the agent had to say. I’m still standing too close. Again, I have the feeling that you’re trying to take the smell of my perfume, my smell, in. I finally lose my composure. I burst into tears.
- I can’t take it anymore. Tell me if you have a secret. Tell me if you’re single. Tell me if… tell me…
I’m crying hard. I’m sobbing. I’m weeping. I can’t not know. I can’t hope that what she said is true. Can you be single? Please!...
- Hey, Chica! Look at me! Talk to me! What’s eating you? Tell me. You know you can talk to me.
I gaze into your eyes. I can’t see you in the darkness of my bedroom. But I can see your eyes. You’re watching me. Closely. Seems like your life is in my hands. What’s going on?
- Come on! Say it! What’s the worst thing that can possibly happen?
You say.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re in my dark bedroom. So dark that I can hardly see the outline of your body, your face. But it’s not too dark for me to see your eyes. They’re sparkling. They’re laughing. They’re talking. They’re telling me that my secret’s out; that it’s not my secret anymore; that you already know. I’ve never seen you so young, so excited before.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re touching. You have your hands on my arms. You’re digging your fingers into my flesh. It hurts. But it’s not why the tears keep running down my face.
How can I come out with the truth? How can I tell you that I love you? What will you do if I say it? You’re married. You have a wife, a life. If you know I love you, if you know how I feel, if you know how desperately and passionately I love you, you will have to stop being my friend; stop hanging out with me. I can’t lose you. Can’t lose all…
- I can’t tell you.
- Come on! What does it mean? You can; and you will.
- NO! Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? I can’t tell you.
- Say it. What’s the worst thing that can happen?
- I won’t. I will lose you. I can’t…
- No. you won’t lose me. Just say it.
- You know, don’t you? You already know!
- Chica, I wasn’t born yesterday!
I finally believe it. It’s true. You know. That’s why your eyes sparkle. That’s why you smile. That why your fingers are so hot on my cold skin. That’s why you smell my hair. That’s why you stand so close. That’s why…
I freak out. I run outside. Molly’s half unconscious; really drunk. My mom gives me her all-knowing smile; as if she knows what just happened in my room.
My mind doesn’t function anymore. I don’t know what to do.
- He knows. He already knows. I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. But he knows…
I don’t know why I’m so angry now. Must be all the alcohol. I turn back to you:
- You, you bastard! How could you?
Believe it or not, I don’t know what you have done to deserve that myself! I’m sorry. Blame it on the vodka!
It’s almost midnight. My mom’s set the table. You sit with her to have dinner. I go take a cold, freezing shower in the hope of getting my thoughts in order. I don’t know how you found me out. I don’t know what gave me away. I don’t know when my secret was revealed.
The shower doesn’t help. I’m not drunk anymore, true. But it also means that I’m not enjoying the partial numbness either. I grab my keys and run downstairs. I know you will follow me. I know it now.
You do follow. I’m still angry at you, which surprises us both. There’s no reason for my anger. What I know and you don’t is that I’m not really angry. I’m scared. I don’t know what will happen or what I should do. So I pretend to be angry. I don’t want you to see how scared and vulnerable I am.
I walk outside. It’s so quiet on the streets. I love it. In the midnight hours, the cool clean air, the half dark streets, the emptiness, it should be creepy, but it calms me down. Always. Tonight, I need something to calm me down.
I finally sit down on the sidewalk. I’m still crying. I need to know why you insist that I talk about my feelings. I’m not drunk anymore. But I’m high on all the excitement. I don’t have a true perception of what goes on. I don’t really hear what you say. I don’t even hear myself.
You talk about your feelings I guess. It’s strange that you don’t give them a name though you admit that you have very strong feelings for me. Am I still too drunk to pick that?
I talk about my feelings too. I tell you that I love you. I tell you that I always have, since the very first time I talked to you. I ask you how you knew.
- I wasn’t born yesterday! I could see all the signs. And I knew I had these feelings for you. I guessed you felt the same way. I needed to know if I was right.
There’s no talk of this love being wrong. You don’t even hint at not being my friend anymore. It’s as if we’re two teenage kids who’ve found love for the first time. We don’t think about what’s wrong or right. We don’t care what will happen tomorrow. We don’t even remember that you’re married.
We just talk about all the fun things we share, the laughters, the jokes, the detailed proofs of our love.
You virtually lift me off the ground. You try to wipe the dust and dirt off my skirt. And I feel the power of being loved; of belonging to a man; of being protected and cared for. I haven’t had that in years. I’ve never had that.
We walk back to my place. But we don’t go back upstairs. We still have so much to talk about. And we have a very exotic garden all to ourselves. We sit down in the middle of the trees and bushes. We hear the crickets and night-birds. Insects fly around. Dogs howl. Wind blows. It’s out of a romance movie. It’s a complete fairytale.
I have no idea what we’re talking about. All I can focus on is the fact that you’re sitting so close to me. I imagine that I can smell you. I can touch yours if I move my hand only a few centimeters. I dream of how hot your body must feel if I touch it.
I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I can see is your eyes. They’re still sparkling. They are young and happy, more than anytime in the past. And they’re focused on me too. Focused on my face. On my lips, to be exact!
I can’t wait to feel and taste them. But I don’t want to initiate anything. I tease you. I encourage you. I watch your lips too. I drop lines about taking risks.
You still hesitate.
My cell phone rings.
It’s Molly. Wants to talk to you.
As it happens, she wakes up from her drunken sleep. At 3:00 am. Wants to spend the rest of the night in her own bed.
- I hope you don’t waste all your chances and opportunities like this!
You’re going to have to get used to my venomous remarks!
I say it and walk away. It takes you a couple of seconds to realize what just happened and catch up with me.
You grab my arm. Sort of roughly. You force me to stand still. You look me in the eyes. You’re not too tall for me, but you somehow tower over me.
And you kiss me.
You’re still pressing my left arm with one hand. The other one is traveling up and down my back. All the way up to my neck, forcing my head back, closer to you, pressing my face to yours. All the way down, caressing my neck and shoulders, going to the small of my back.
My whole body is pressed against yours. Your thighs are hot against mine. Your heart is beating fast against mine. Your breath is too rapid and excited on my face. We’re the perfect height for each other.
Still, what really takes my breath away is your kiss, the actual feel of your lips on mine.
It’s a very gentle kiss. You put your lips on mine quite hesitatingly. Your lips are more pressed together than on mine. But you relax soon enough. You part your lips. You force mine open. Your lips are soft and sweet. Is it not masculine? I don’t know. I don’t care. All I know is that your kiss gives me the shivers. It’s like fire. The burning starts at my lips. Goes down all the way to my stomach. Fills my heart. Rushes to my brain. Travels down my legs and weakens my knees.
What are you doing to me?
There is such hesitation, doubt and fear in the kiss you give me. It can’t be as good for you as it is for me.
I don’t know if it’s because you’re out of breath, or because you have to go, or because it’s not good for you that you break away. We can’t look at each other. We’ve never had such an uncomfortable silence before.
And I don’t want the night to end this way. I don’t know if I’ll wake up in pain and regret tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll wake up in a dreamland. I just can’t let the night end in doubtful silence. I kiss you again in the lift.
Back in my place, as you say goodbye to my mom, I can see how nervous you are. The impact of what just happened is showing. I don’t know why I just feel the adrenaline. I’m not scared anymore. I have no regrets. I have no doubts.
Did I ever tell you that I accept everything there is with no questions?
Did I ever tell you that everything exists for a reason, and that it’s not our place to question the reasons?
What happened tonight is a sin, according to all rules of religion and morality. What we feel for each other is wrong, according to all rules of conduct and conventions. But we never planned it. I sure never planned to love you. I don’t think you did either. I fought to hide my love. I know you did too.
But it’s there. The love. The chemistry. The passion. The fireworks. The whole fairytale.
There must be a reason. Let’s hope it’s a happy one!
You say.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re in my dark bedroom. So dark that I can hardly see the outline of your body, your face. But it’s not too dark for me to see your eyes. They’re sparkling. They’re laughing. They’re talking. They’re telling me that my secret’s out; that it’s not my secret anymore; that you already know. I’ve never seen you so young, so excited before.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re touching. You have your hands on my arms. You’re digging your fingers into my flesh. It hurts. But it’s not why the tears keep running down my face.
I’m still house hunting. I’ve been, for more than a week now. And I’m getting frustrated. I’m given about two weeks to find a place and move out. Half the time is already gone. My dad is coming over for a visit shortly. And all I have is a number of empty promises from a bunch of liars called housing agents.
I’ve called everyone I know. I’ve used all the favors I could ask for. I’ve swallowed my pride a lot more than I ever planed to. And still nothing happens. It’s probably because I’m a girl. Too young. Too sweet and gentle looking. People don’t take me seriously. They don’t buy my threats. And they take pleasure in wasting my time so they can meet me and talk to me some more. I’m that kind of girl.
As usual, at least in the past few weeks, I call you when I get too depressed. You’re my friend; my best friend; even though we’ve known each other for weeks only. I call you, and I give you the whole speech about why I can’t find a place.
You offer your help.
I’m not sure if it’s what I want; if it’s why I call to talk to you in the first place; or if I’m just feeling relieved and happy that you offered to help. I think it doesn’t really matter anyways. You offer your help. You mean it. And you are able to help. Why should I worry?
You come to my place in the evening. Your wife, Molly, is with you too. I’ve been promised a flat. I’m supposed to go have a look today. We arrange for Molly to stay with my mom, who’s staying with me for a while.
I love that arrangement. I take you with me, the agent sees you, he’ll know I have a man to take care of me, he won’t fool around anymore. Besides, I’ll get to spend time with you, talk to you, some more.
I suggest taking a cab. You disagree. You suggest we ride your bike. I’m not happy. But I accept. Riding your bike? Sitting that close to you? Pressed against your body? Being forced to hold on to you at times? Touching you? I’m not happy one bit. What if I lose control?
I try not to sit too close to you. I try to touch anything, hold anything, but you. And it’s not half as bad as I thought it would be. We’re having fun. You’re your-fun-self again; the fun talkative guy I love so much. Yes, you heard me, love.
And you keep talking and joking about everything. Meaningless jokes. Purposeless talking. You must be having fun too:
- Hey! Look at that erected stone!
- Spike! Watch your mouth please!
- I know. I can be very rude at times!
I never knew that. But it’s another new side of you that I love. I love the way you’re still laughing at your own rude remark. And I’m happy that you’re so clueless. You can’t even imagine that I’m in love with you.
We reach the office. The agent tells us that he still hasn’t got the keys. We should wait. Instead of sitting inside to wait, you suggest we take a walk. You say you want to smoke. Do I believe that? I don’t care. I’d rather be alone with you, even if it’s on the street.
We talk about everything; from here and there. One of the things we always talk about is how you believe in me; how you believe with a little more self-confidence I can do anything I want. I don’t know how or why or when, but I’ve become a sort of responsibility for you. You feel you have to give me the courage to stand up for myself; to stand up in public, to be more exact. Feels good that you care.
You wonder why a girl like me who has everything, in your opinion, lacks self-confidence. You wonder why I’m so scared around people. You don’t know that I’m like that when I’m around you.
- You see, I’m confident more than enough. I believe in myself. I know I’m an exceptional woman. Like, I believe I can have any man I want. But when it comes to friendships, when it comes to you, it’s different. I can’t see you as a man. You’re my friend. I feel I’m not so good at being a friend, though I’m a great girlfriend.
That almost says how I feel about you. Any woman would understand. But you’re a man. You’re not supposed to be smart enough. That’s why I can be reckless with what I say. I then change the subject before it’s too late:
- Who do you think we should tell the agent you are? I want to pretend we’re related.
- I don’t know. Shall we say brother-in-law?
- I like that. I don’t love or hate you enough, to say you’re my brother. Brother-in-law is fine.
- No! I don’t wanna be your brother either!
I let it pass. But, something in the tone of your voice is wrong. Or is it the quick glance you give me? I’m not sure. All I know is that you’re so desperately against being my brother. Can it be…? No! It’s not possible.
The agent keeps us waiting for a couple of hours. I don’t mind. I don’t think you do either. We talk. We laugh. We smoke. We chew gum. We nibble on biscuits. I call to tell my friend that I can’t make it to her boyfriend’s birthday party. I’m getting a kick out of the whole thing. Having a great time. I hope you do too.
We finally give up. It’s too late now. It’s dark. We’re both hungry. My mom and your wife are getting restless too. They keep calling us to see what’s happening. We head back home.
It’s too late now. And it’s dark. Night’s settled in. Probably why I’m being a flirt though I try hard not to be.
- I need your advice. You always tell me that I shouldn’t change who I am for anybody. What if I want to do something which will upset a friend? Should I do it, or should I not, for the friend’s sake?
- Hmm. Let’s see. That depends on what you want to do. If you want to pick your nose and you know that it upsets me, then don’t do it!
Smart-ass! Do you do it to stop me from going further, or do you really not have any clue?
- Well, it’s nothing like that. Let me give another example. Let’s say I want to kiss a good friend to thank him for helping me. But he’s married. His wife might not like it. What do I do?
- I see. If that’s the case, I say go ahead and kiss him. Never mind the wife!
Your voice is full of laughter as you say that. You’re not totally hopeless after all. You may not be a flirt yourself, but you handle flirts just fine!
You’ve encouraged me enough.
Back at my place, in the half dark parking lot, I gather all my courage.
- Hey, Spike. Wait a sec.
You turn to look at me. You know what’s about to happen. I wait for you to make a move. Any move. Encourage me. Stop me. Anything. You just wait.
I’m not so brave either. I take a small step forward. I put both arms around your neck. I intend to hold you for a second only, long enough for the lightest butterfly kiss on your cheek. Not that I don’t know those can be quite erotic too!
I can’t kiss you.
Before my arms are all the way around you I feel myself trapped in yours. You have both arms around my waist. You’re holding me tight. You’re squeezing me. You’re pressing me against your chest. You’re crushing me. I hear you inhale like you’re smelling me; are you?!?
Before you even begin to let go I feel the blood rush to my face. My face is against your neck. I’m sure you can feel its heat if you can’t see the flushed face. I break free. I practically run towards the lift. We are both silent. I don’t even look at you. Do you?
It’s too late now. I insist that you guys stay for dinner. As you sit to talk to my mom, Molly joins me in the kitchen. I’m making a fast pasta dish. And I’m making fun of the way you try to charm older women. Molly and I are both having a good laugh. Until she decides to ruin it, for all of us, for the rest of our lives.
- What will you do if we tell you that we’re not married?
- Why would I do anything?!?
- That would mean we lied to you!
- Hey, you know what; I’m your friend, not your god! If you lie, if you choose not to share something, it means that you have a good reason. I’m ok with it.
- Even if we’re not married? If we’re brother and sister?
- Whatever. It’s not my place to judge you. I’ll be your friend anyway.
I’m sure I sound convincing. But my heart is beating like crazy. It’s jumping out of my chest. It’s pounding against my ribs. It’s tearing my insides apart. Can it be true? Can it possibly be true? Isn’t it too good to be true?
I still pretend not to care.
Now I can’t wait for the night to be over. I need to be alone. To organize my thoughts. To decide my next move. I just need to be away from you. It can’t happen
It’s Molly who suggests we drink the bottle of wine you guys brought me before we have dinner. I can’t say no. I get the wine and the glasses. I put on my mild music and put out the lights. We sit down to drink.
The bottle is finished before we know it. There are three of us drinking after all, with my mom just taking part in the conversation and not the drinking. We’re not even close to being drunk yet. I don’t know why we should, but we all seem to want to get really drunk. I bring in my bottle of Absolute vanilla vodka.
Now we’re getting drunk. We take silly pictures in the dark. We make stupid jokes. You ask me what I’m getting you for your birthday.
- What the heck! I’ll give you a kiss!
Molly is the most drunk though she’s drunk the least. She insists that I kiss you here and now. I’m almost drunk too. I get up, stumble, lean on you, and kiss you, really kiss you, on the cheek. My lips touch your skin. I feel fire. Can you feel it too? I guess I’ll never know.
We then talk about love. Such an upsetting subject. I even say the most stupid sentence of the night, or the whole century even!
- You guys don’t know how it feels to be in love with someone you can never have!
It’s too late. A wonder that my phone rings. More surprisingly, it’s one of the agents. I ask you to take the call. You take the call in my bedroom. I follow you after a couple of minutes.
The room’s dark. You haven’t turned the lights on. Neither do I now. You’re standing at the window. Talking seriously. But you smile as you see me walk in. I wonder how we see each other in the dark.
I walk closer. That’s my problem with being drunk. I know what I’m doing. I can tell if it’s wrong. I just can’t stop myself.
I walk closer. I stop half a step away from you. You’re still smiling. I mouth “what is he saying?” You ask me to wait.
The call is over. Neither one of us talks about joining the others in the living room. We don’t even talk about what the agent had to say. I’m still standing too close. Again, I have the feeling that you’re trying to take the smell of my perfume, my smell, in. I finally lose my composure. I burst into tears.
- I can’t take it anymore. Tell me if you have a secret. Tell me if you’re single. Tell me if… tell me…
I’m crying hard. I’m sobbing. I’m weeping. I can’t not know. I can’t hope that what she said is true. Can you be single? Please!...
- Hey, Chica! Look at me! Talk to me! What’s eating you? Tell me. You know you can talk to me.
I gaze into your eyes. I can’t see you in the darkness of my bedroom. But I can see your eyes. You’re watching me. Closely. Seems like your life is in my hands. What’s going on?
- Come on! Say it! What’s the worst thing that can possibly happen?
You say.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re in my dark bedroom. So dark that I can hardly see the outline of your body, your face. But it’s not too dark for me to see your eyes. They’re sparkling. They’re laughing. They’re talking. They’re telling me that my secret’s out; that it’s not my secret anymore; that you already know. I’ve never seen you so young, so excited before.
We’re standing too close for comfort. We’re touching. You have your hands on my arms. You’re digging your fingers into my flesh. It hurts. But it’s not why the tears keep running down my face.
How can I come out with the truth? How can I tell you that I love you? What will you do if I say it? You’re married. You have a wife, a life. If you know I love you, if you know how I feel, if you know how desperately and passionately I love you, you will have to stop being my friend; stop hanging out with me. I can’t lose you. Can’t lose all…
- I can’t tell you.
- Come on! What does it mean? You can; and you will.
- NO! Can’t you see? Don’t you understand? I can’t tell you.
- Say it. What’s the worst thing that can happen?
- I won’t. I will lose you. I can’t…
- No. you won’t lose me. Just say it.
- You know, don’t you? You already know!
- Chica, I wasn’t born yesterday!
I finally believe it. It’s true. You know. That’s why your eyes sparkle. That’s why you smile. That why your fingers are so hot on my cold skin. That’s why you smell my hair. That’s why you stand so close. That’s why…
I freak out. I run outside. Molly’s half unconscious; really drunk. My mom gives me her all-knowing smile; as if she knows what just happened in my room.
My mind doesn’t function anymore. I don’t know what to do.
- He knows. He already knows. I didn’t tell him anything, I swear. But he knows…
I don’t know why I’m so angry now. Must be all the alcohol. I turn back to you:
- You, you bastard! How could you?
Believe it or not, I don’t know what you have done to deserve that myself! I’m sorry. Blame it on the vodka!
It’s almost midnight. My mom’s set the table. You sit with her to have dinner. I go take a cold, freezing shower in the hope of getting my thoughts in order. I don’t know how you found me out. I don’t know what gave me away. I don’t know when my secret was revealed.
The shower doesn’t help. I’m not drunk anymore, true. But it also means that I’m not enjoying the partial numbness either. I grab my keys and run downstairs. I know you will follow me. I know it now.
You do follow. I’m still angry at you, which surprises us both. There’s no reason for my anger. What I know and you don’t is that I’m not really angry. I’m scared. I don’t know what will happen or what I should do. So I pretend to be angry. I don’t want you to see how scared and vulnerable I am.
I walk outside. It’s so quiet on the streets. I love it. In the midnight hours, the cool clean air, the half dark streets, the emptiness, it should be creepy, but it calms me down. Always. Tonight, I need something to calm me down.
I finally sit down on the sidewalk. I’m still crying. I need to know why you insist that I talk about my feelings. I’m not drunk anymore. But I’m high on all the excitement. I don’t have a true perception of what goes on. I don’t really hear what you say. I don’t even hear myself.
You talk about your feelings I guess. It’s strange that you don’t give them a name though you admit that you have very strong feelings for me. Am I still too drunk to pick that?
I talk about my feelings too. I tell you that I love you. I tell you that I always have, since the very first time I talked to you. I ask you how you knew.
- I wasn’t born yesterday! I could see all the signs. And I knew I had these feelings for you. I guessed you felt the same way. I needed to know if I was right.
There’s no talk of this love being wrong. You don’t even hint at not being my friend anymore. It’s as if we’re two teenage kids who’ve found love for the first time. We don’t think about what’s wrong or right. We don’t care what will happen tomorrow. We don’t even remember that you’re married.
We just talk about all the fun things we share, the laughters, the jokes, the detailed proofs of our love.
You virtually lift me off the ground. You try to wipe the dust and dirt off my skirt. And I feel the power of being loved; of belonging to a man; of being protected and cared for. I haven’t had that in years. I’ve never had that.
We walk back to my place. But we don’t go back upstairs. We still have so much to talk about. And we have a very exotic garden all to ourselves. We sit down in the middle of the trees and bushes. We hear the crickets and night-birds. Insects fly around. Dogs howl. Wind blows. It’s out of a romance movie. It’s a complete fairytale.
I have no idea what we’re talking about. All I can focus on is the fact that you’re sitting so close to me. I imagine that I can smell you. I can touch yours if I move my hand only a few centimeters. I dream of how hot your body must feel if I touch it.
I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I can see is your eyes. They’re still sparkling. They are young and happy, more than anytime in the past. And they’re focused on me too. Focused on my face. On my lips, to be exact!
I can’t wait to feel and taste them. But I don’t want to initiate anything. I tease you. I encourage you. I watch your lips too. I drop lines about taking risks.
You still hesitate.
My cell phone rings.
It’s Molly. Wants to talk to you.
As it happens, she wakes up from her drunken sleep. At 3:00 am. Wants to spend the rest of the night in her own bed.
- I hope you don’t waste all your chances and opportunities like this!
You’re going to have to get used to my venomous remarks!
I say it and walk away. It takes you a couple of seconds to realize what just happened and catch up with me.
You grab my arm. Sort of roughly. You force me to stand still. You look me in the eyes. You’re not too tall for me, but you somehow tower over me.
And you kiss me.
You’re still pressing my left arm with one hand. The other one is traveling up and down my back. All the way up to my neck, forcing my head back, closer to you, pressing my face to yours. All the way down, caressing my neck and shoulders, going to the small of my back.
My whole body is pressed against yours. Your thighs are hot against mine. Your heart is beating fast against mine. Your breath is too rapid and excited on my face. We’re the perfect height for each other.
Still, what really takes my breath away is your kiss, the actual feel of your lips on mine.
It’s a very gentle kiss. You put your lips on mine quite hesitatingly. Your lips are more pressed together than on mine. But you relax soon enough. You part your lips. You force mine open. Your lips are soft and sweet. Is it not masculine? I don’t know. I don’t care. All I know is that your kiss gives me the shivers. It’s like fire. The burning starts at my lips. Goes down all the way to my stomach. Fills my heart. Rushes to my brain. Travels down my legs and weakens my knees.
What are you doing to me?
There is such hesitation, doubt and fear in the kiss you give me. It can’t be as good for you as it is for me.
I don’t know if it’s because you’re out of breath, or because you have to go, or because it’s not good for you that you break away. We can’t look at each other. We’ve never had such an uncomfortable silence before.
And I don’t want the night to end this way. I don’t know if I’ll wake up in pain and regret tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ll wake up in a dreamland. I just can’t let the night end in doubtful silence. I kiss you again in the lift.
Back in my place, as you say goodbye to my mom, I can see how nervous you are. The impact of what just happened is showing. I don’t know why I just feel the adrenaline. I’m not scared anymore. I have no regrets. I have no doubts.
Did I ever tell you that I accept everything there is with no questions?
Did I ever tell you that everything exists for a reason, and that it’s not our place to question the reasons?
What happened tonight is a sin, according to all rules of religion and morality. What we feel for each other is wrong, according to all rules of conduct and conventions. But we never planned it. I sure never planned to love you. I don’t think you did either. I fought to hide my love. I know you did too.
But it’s there. The love. The chemistry. The passion. The fireworks. The whole fairytale.
There must be a reason. Let’s hope it’s a happy one!
