Sailor's Song.

What are you looking for, she asks me, and I've never met her before. She sits in front of me cigarette smoke obscures everything but her black eyes that have a dim, lithium quality about them. I don't know, I tell her, I just come in looking for a couple of drinks, I guess.

Oh really?

Yes, really.

Out of all the joints here, you walk into this one, what are you really looking for?

Nothing really.

Oh yes, really. I saw you in here last time you were in here, your head was spinning, your eyes glazed in a craze for him. That's it, huh honey? You think you can change him?

Something like that, I guess.

You poor thing. You know how many boys I've seen just like you. What are you twenty-three? She asks me.

Twenty-two.

Yeah. That's right, he likes 'em young. He likes when the heart is wrapped up like a pretty little present and he's the one who gets to untie the ribbon.

Sure.

No sure about it hun, I know him. He takes what he finds and runs away with it. You weren't nothing to him. Just a good time and a few free drinks. A good time. How come you don't think like that? Save yourself all this suffering. You can't lose what you never had in the first place.

You sure about that?

Dead serious. That's why I sat over here and asked you: What are you looking for? Here, you want this?

She hands me a joint thick, pretty, smoke curling into cursive in the air.

You don't know whatcha you're looking for because you don't know what you want kid. You don't know life from a steak sandwich hun.

What do you know about me?

Everything, you think you're the first kid I've had this conversation with. She leans in to whisper in my ear I'm an oracle, don't you know that? I think you're lost, looking for something that you think is going to solve all of your problems. I'm gonna let you in on a little secret--it doesn't. Nothing new, nothing old, nothing, we're people the problems are always going to be there. No, you see what you want...

At this point, she's sitting on my lap thinking that I'll get hard and maybe I'll think differently. The light from the bar makes her look like she's glowing. She leans into my ear and tells me that what I want is just to be happy, and god it sends chills down my spine. My brain was tingling. You just want to be happy. I know this because that's all I want. Sad recognizes sad. It knows when to intermingle its fingers into a soul. She asks if I feel sad at all. I tell her I don't know because I don't. That's okay, she tells me. She's still whispering things of sadness and how beautiful it would be to float in the night sky, and how the closest she ever was some years back when she swallowed some pills alone in a sad little green bathroom. She asks, If I believe if there are diamonds in people's hearts? I tell her I don't know. Truth is, I haven't gotten that close to anyone to know a sorta thing like that.

She pulls my head into her and I'm pillowing my head against her breasts. And I think of a lovesick dog. Yet, I'm still trying to scan the bar for him. Trying to catch a glimpse of him--even a blur and I would be happy. She tells me that I don't have to be alone tonight, that I can stay with her, that nothing has to be done together. She just wants to feel weight in the bed with her. She tells me she doesn't know the last time a man stayed the night without her having to ask. Then, I see him and there's another boy with him. She notices that my eyes aren't hers alone anymore and she turns around and sees him. She turns around and picks up my face with a soft hand, brings her finger under my chin to lift me back to her eye level. I look at her nail and it's purple. But not just any purple, it's a purple that I've seen before in person. It was in a lavender field, and the sun was hitting the flowers just right, so right that my mind took a photograph of it. She looks me in my deep brown eyes, and she tells me that when I cry my eyes are a greenish-gray. A color that she's only seen in night skies in Alaska. I can taste my tears on my lips. She kisses me and tells me that I have nice lips. Tells me the color of them reminds her of sunsets in Arizona, her eyes deep in mine, she lets me know that she likes the way whiskey and tears roll off them.

Oh, you poor thing, she tells me. She wipes my tears with the pad of her thumb. That's just him honey. There's going to be a day when he can't pull himself off anymore. His looks will fade, and he won't be able to pull boys such as yourself anymore. He's just doing it because boys like you don't know nothing better. He looks at himself every day and he hate what he sees. He's chasing youth honey. He lost his long time ago, shit, probably just gave it away. We all give something away in this lifetime, you still have time--lots of it. What are you chasing honey? Do you even know?

And I do. It's a shame to admit you lost yourself so young. Like an old lover you begin to look for yourself in bits and pieces in everybody that you meet. I'm too ashamed to answer her question--so I say, I don't know. She smiles and tells me to kiss her hard and to love her like a sailor.

And I kiss her hard like it's the last time I'm ever going to do it. The love part? Well, you can't use something that's broken.