One Night

Piercing ocean blue eyes that I wouldn’t mind drowning in if I had a say in how I go out, with impossibly long and dark eyelashes surrounding them, even if they are fake, and I hate that all it makes me wonder is what else about her is fake. She isn’t made up like a doll, but there’s definitely significant effort put into her look. Multi-colored acrylic nails, loose but flattering jeans, plain blouse tucked into the front of her jeans. No heels, which I’m surprised about. If I had come across a head shot on her desk or online, I definitely would have pegged her as the type to wear stilettos. An inappropriate joke passes through my mind, pushing it down. I groan internally, I’ve been single for far too long.

A smile that makes her heart skip a beat, matching dimples on either side, accented by a silver hoop snug on the center of her full bottom lip, further complimented by the matching silver adorning various places of her face, a smaller hoop towards the end of her left eyebrow, a small silver stud in the dip of the right side of her nose, multiple jewel-less earrings weaving themselves in and out of both of her earlobes and the cartilage. My own hand creeps up to my hair, tucking it behind my left ear, absentmindedly touching all the blank spaces on my ear that I had never even questioned before now. I wonder what I’d look like with all those. I wonder if she has any others, my mind flashing back to my high school friend who had gotten her belly button pierced when she’d been drunk on wine coolers she’d stolen from her mom’s stash. I let my hand fall down, stroking the soft suede of my mini skirt, wondering how much longer we could get away with either of us talking. She doesn’t seem like she’s gonna be the one to break the silence, in fact she’d probably be content just to stand here until it’s unanimously decided that we’re not the perfect match Melody claims us to be, but I promised her I’d give this girl a fair shot, to make up for all the images of strangers I’d shot down without even a second glance while we swiped through all the dating apps after one too many shots. After that night she claimed I’m too quick to judge, and I took it to heart, so I am trying to be better, trying to give things a chance beyond the first look, so here I am, silently standing in front of the terrifyingly gorgeous pink haired girl hoping I won’t regret it after tonight.

Jaylee Ophelia Masters but people call me Jom, she says, her hand outstretched, and almost everything in me is wordlessly screaming to take it, but I don’t because that one nagging voice, the sole one that starts at the base of my skull and eventually travels to right behind my eyes is setting off warning bells within me.

Kat, she says, not offering a last name or her hand, but a small smile while her dark eyes search me, starting at the ground, ending on the mirrored ceiling. I look up, meeting her gaze in the mirror before it darts away, moving through the reflections on the ceiling, never lingering for long. I tear my gaze from the mirrored tiles, watching the girl in front of me as she watches everyone else. She probably isn’t the type that likes to be watched, I think, obviously something deeper going on, but then again not my place to judge, I know I can be a little much, but for now, as long as her attention is drawn elsewhere, I’ll take the time to commit her to memory, I don’t think I could’ve ever dreamed up a girl like her, even though I’m pretty sure some version of her will end up in my dreams later. The subconscious is funny like that, weaving people from your life, whether the girl I’ve only met once on the recommendation and insistence from a close friend or a background actor that had been on the show that had been playing at the nail salon this afternoon.

I watch all the people, seemingly moving without a care in the world. I wish I could be like that, not second questioning every look or smile, content to just accept people as they present themselves, I just know better. I force myself to stop looking at the reflection of the crowd, instead looking at the girl in front of me. Just looking at her, all bright eyed and soft around every edge she can see, and knowing what she herself looks like, I can only imagine how it looks inside her head, probably all rainbows and glitter to match the sparkling makeup in the corner of her eyes, but I should know better, just because she present femme doesn’t mean she hasn’t faced some of the same hardships that I have, but I can’t help but questions how we could have anything in common, let alone anything to convince Melody we’re destined for each other.

How do you know Melody? she questions, only her lips moving, and even then just barely. College, I say, waiting a moment before continuing to see if she’d answer her own question without being prompted to. First week freshman year, I was trying to attend as many clubs as I could, determined to make at least fifteen friends before the week was over, I literally had a notepad with fifteen blank boxes just waiting to be checked off. I’d already been to five club meetings the first day on campus so on the second one, my first stop was nine am in the theater building at the Gay Straight Alliance club, but that was God, six, seven years ago now, when I was still under the pretense that I was just a really supportive ally. God, I can’t believe college was that long ago, it feels like last week, I laugh, mentally trying to calculate exactly how many years it had been, but two shots in wasn’t the best time to do mental math. I shake my head, pushing the task to the back of my mind. I sigh, remembering exactly how it felt to sit in a circle, listening to the others tell stories, one senior guy had just repeated all the insanely cheesy pickup lines that had both been used on him and even some that he had used. I couldn’t believe all the stories people had, how early they knew, how they figured it out, the signs they had missed, I say, it’s what made me realize that my quote unquote girl crush on the actress from the first James Bond movie that I insisted watching over and over as a kid wasn’t just someone I was looking up to. What about you? I ask.

You asking for my coming out story or how I know Melody? I question, surprised she isn’t completely out of breath.

I shrug my shoulders, the chain strap of my bag sliding off my to the crook where my shoulder meets my neck. Whichever you feel up to answering. I watch her contemplate the choices I presented her, weighing the options in her mind. I figure it was best to give her a choice, not wanting to pressure her into talking about anything that’d make her uncomfortable. For all I know, she and Melody met in NA. She’d told me about it before, how glum the meetings can be, usually held in a dingy church basement with a box of donuts or cookies from the local superstore, and how she’s lucky if there’s anyone else under forty in the meetings, but I know better than to press, that it’s called NA for a reason, no point to include anonymous in the title if people don’t make an effort to keep it a secret or to respect it. I’d never pressure Melody to talk about anything she doesn’t want to, but like others, she just seems to open up around me, spilling her guts, especially if she had anything more than water in her. She clears her throat, clearly unsure of exactly how to answer, so I tilt my head to make sure she knows I’m interested in hearing the answer.

I run my tongue along the inside of my mouth, catching it on the back of my labret piercing, pulling my tongue away before I can do any potential damage, more than can be said for my words, having a habit of hurting myself and others without even meaning to. I inhale sharply, slightly biting my lip, contemplating whether or not to tell the truth. I make up my mind, the truth it is, what have I got to lose if she makes a break for it other than a little bit of my time. I got called a not so nice word by a sixth grade boy that he had learned the night before from his father right before he pushed me to the concrete and said yeah, what about it? The black eye was worth the look on his face. Her face drops, her mouth literally opening into almost a perfect circle.

No, I gasp, my hand flying to cover my mouth. She smiles, like actually smiles, the tip of her tongue poking out of the corner just ever so slightly. I want to make her smile again. I know that much, that if all I get out of tonight is to see her smile again, I’ll be happy, and I’ll make it happen, no matter what it takes, maybe even a genuine laugh if I’m feeling lucky. I can’t draw my eyes away from her lips, the way they quirk up on the top right side, like there should be a cigarette placed between them, the way the ring moves when they move. I shouldn’t be staring, I know that, but suddenly I can’t help but wonder what the piercing tastes like, what she tastes like, and then my mind is drawn back to my earlier thoughts of piercings I can’t see, and I can feel like cheeks flush. I force my eyes back to hers, showing her she has my full attention again, nodding again for her to continue her story. I couldn’t imagine knowing that young, let alone having to defend myself to obnoxious preteen boys.

Watching her, it’s obvious her mind is racing, but her eyes keep flickering back to my lips. I pull them in, biting them slightly, then pushing them back out, parting them to speak, the second half of the story spilling out of me. Then Melody walked over and slapped him, used a few choice words of her own to let him and everyone else on the playground know exactly how she felt about him using such a derogatory term. That was the first and only time I have ever heard a thirteen year old use the term derogatory. I let my words hang in the air, waiting for a reaction, any reaction.

My clap cuts through the silence between us. Oh my god, that’s iconic! I exclaim, restraining myself to not reach out and pull her closer, dying for more details. Instead, I step closer, only a single footstep, but it makes all the difference. Now I can see exactly how the light shines off the darkness of her eyes, and that the stud in her nose is in fact a small gem, just like the lower two piercings in each of her ears. Her hair isn’t black like I’d thought, but rather a rich dark brown, the top longer pieces curled with the bottom half closed shaved fairly close to her scalp. I wonder how it’d feel, the soft of the curls contrasted by the sharpness of the buzzcut. She leans forward, just barely, but it makes my heart sing, no matter how small, it's a positive effort on her part.

That’s one word for it. I say, surprised by her reaction, but even more surprised by her decision to step closer, if it had been a decision. Maybe it was just a subconscious thing, her brain urging her to step forward to be able to hear better or to get away from the person bumping into her back. I had half expected her to turn around and make a beeline for the door. She bites her own lip, almost like she’s trying to taste her own words before they can make it out. Can I be honest? she asks, practically teetering on the balls of her feet.

I wait anxiously for her answer. For all I know, I’m the farthest thing from her type and she’s just here to be able to report back to Melody that she gave me a chance, but no dice, never again.  God, what if I’m the one to turn her away from dating entirely? I don’t think I could handle the guilt of knowing I’d ruined someone’s chance at happiness by being a truly horrible blind date. I doubt you’re ever anything but, she says, almost teasing if I didn’t know better. I don’t know about you, but I only came here tonight to get Melody off my back about turning into an old maid before I hit thirty. She nods just slightly, just enough to urge me to continue. This, I say, circling my pointer finger to gesture to the surrounding space, isn’t really my scene, and neither are blind dates, usually, but, I say, letting my words taper off, for once unsure how to continue, scared to scare her away. But? she questions. But I don’t know, you, this is different, at least for me. Would you be interested in going out on an actual date where we don’t have to scream to hear each other, maybe somewhere where you feel safe enough to not be checking the doors every thirty seconds? I say, finally saying what I’d been wanting to say, to show her I am interested and I did notice her unease. She smiles lightly, before a laugh erupts from her chest. Bingo, I think to myself. I made her laugh. My mom always said that she knew she had my dad, hook, line, and sinker, when she could make him laugh even in his worst moods. I got a smile and a laugh, I can go to bed happy tonight.

She keeps going, her mouth moving a mile a minute, but I can’t help but smile, which I can’t even remember the last time I didn’t have to force myself to smile, let alone try to stop. I catch the tail end of her words. Even if we don’t work out, I think this could be a beautiful friendship, she says, smiling so big I wonder if it has to hurt. I want to know how it feels to hurt or laugh from smiling. How do you feel about Italian? Got a family recipe for ziti, I ask, freezing when her face drops. A smile slowly creeps back onto it, a wicked little gleam to it, surprised such an angelic face could be capable of even a hint of something darker. Your place or mine? she questions, smirking.

SIX YEARS LATER...

I force myself to keep my eyes forward, just on her, to ignore everything else. I’ll never forget how it felt to have her eyes on me that night. I say, her beautiful blue eyes glistening with tears, one leaking down her cheek. 

I inhale deeply, forcing myself to calm down, there wouldn’t be a point to talking if all my words are a blubbering mess. How can she be so calm? I question, cursing her for her usually stoic demeanor, never breaking in public, good or bad. Maybe I should’ve taken her up on her suggestion to a more private location, she’d even suggested eloping in Europe, but I’d fought her, determined to have the big wedding, big white dress and overpriced bouquet, and she’d caved, she always did. Couldn’t blame her. She’d taken a picture once, of me puppy dog eyes and all, and I understood it then. It was the same face my mom pulls on my dad anytime she needs him to do something he’s not particularly interested in doing otherwise. I’ll never forget how it felt to have her smile at me. She did it a few times that night we met, even laughed once, and that’s when I knew I had to see her again. And here we are, she murmurs, reaching out to wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, careful not to smudge my makeup. Melody’s holding back tears, waving at her eyes, determined to see this matchmaking to the end, sealing the deal herself, her words, not mine. She utters the words, the crowd erupting into cheers as I lean forward, invading Kat’s space, something she’d given me explicit permission to after the tenth date, right before dipping her backwards, chasing after her lips with my own. Forever and always, I murmur, carefully pressing my lips against her metal free ones, the hoop under her nose pressing into the skin above my top lip. Forever and always, she repeats back, smiling even as her lips are pressed against mine.