sometimes i just write things. sometimes these things don't make sense. i just finished watching y tu mama tambien unrated version. i love that movie. This was going to go in a different direction, but kind of wrote itself.
We are the Unknown
We'd been talking for a while, a long while, when he asks me, while studying the amber depths of his beer bottle quite intently, why I ever kissed a girl.
I normally would pull out a lie here. Say something that's only partially true or ask him why he ever did the same. But I need someone I don't lie to. It's been years since I told the whole truth. So help me, but I'm just drunk enough that I'll tell him my reasons; he's just drunk enough to not remember them in the morning.
"Well, you see, I was always more comfortable around boys. I had two brothers and up until puberty or so, I understood boys better than anything with a vagina. And the problem, as always, is that once a guy sees you as just another one of the guys, it takes copious amounts of liquor to change that view. And I'm just too poor to do so."
He snorted a laugh and turned to look at me, "True?"
"Truth," I replied grinning.
"Besides", I glance over to him before staring off to the opposite wall. "The boys never wanted to kiss me."
His laugh is softer this time, like a sigh but harsher, pushing out air and shifting the shoulders; almost indistinguishable from the beginning of a good cry. I pray that he's not a weeping drunk. "You expect me to believe…. With that rack? ... Yeah right."
"Sadly, my friend, men apparently are not all about looks; otherwise the sisters would have gotten much more attention back in the day. Besides, I'm crazy enough that the boys are all scared of me. And high school boys do not date girls they're afraid of."
"Scared?" He quirks an eyebrow and stares at me confused. For a second I lose him in his eyes. Green and brown and goddamnit. I don't care what he's saying, he's lost to me.
I rub my hands over my cheeks, my nose, my eyes, my lips and chin then run them through my hair. "I was the unknown, m'kay? We know how much humans hate the unknown."
"I know a few who love it… who need it."
That is not subtle, no matter how offhand he tries to make it seem. "Introduce me sometime," I mumble as I tip the last few spheres of lager onto my lips. "We'll have a grand time until I convince them to settle, marry and spend the rest of their lives with a stable marriage and a steady job."
"Are you really so crazy? So weird? So mysterious?"
"No I'm bluntly honest in a lying sort of way and I have problems with telling people what they actually want to know. The truth has always been the enemy my friend. And so- weird- just like everyone else, every where else, in every time that has ever existed. See what I mean?"
I brush my hands on my pants, shove my glass to the 'keep and walk over to stand next to him. Looking down at him he seems more lost than normal, but he's still smiling. "Why d'you want to know anyway?"
He's a long time in answering me, avoiding my questioning gaze until his coat is in hand and seat cleaned up. Finally he turns, puts both his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eye.
"I wanted to know if we had the same reasons."
I'm caught off guard, this is not the kind of answer I was expecting, but the unexpected is almost always a good thing. "Reasons for what?"
Our eyes meet once again, and his gaze is that of a man hanging from a cliff next to a patch of wild strawberries. Enjoy the last moments, for soon you will die. He brushes a stand of hair away from my face and then leans towards me, moving his hands to my jaw and neck, bringing my mouth closer to his as we kiss.
We do not part, for indeed our lips are still touching when he answers my question, "For not doing that the day I met you."
Somewhere, in the back of my head and the bottom of my heart I have a sudden wish that he's too drunk to remember doing this when he wakes up tomorrow.
Because I want to repeat it, again and again and again.