Tuesday, December 20, 2011

On a Date: Theatrics

Her place was a single room with a bed in the middle, a dirty little kitchenette, and candles on everything. When I arrived at the beginning of the night she let me in wearing a silk robe, then she went behind a folding screen to change. There was a lamp back there, and her silhouette danced against the screen.

"How theatrical." I said, and swallowed hard.

"Come help zip me up."

I zipped her up, and the dress was tight. She said she'd been gaining weight. I said I hadn't noticed.

I sat on the edge of her bed as she brought out a bowl of crushed ice, a bottle of gin, and lemon juice. She drank quickly and much and was always active, swinging her arms about, gnashing her tiny white teeth, with a face always in expression, never dormant. She lit incense and sweat beaded on her forehead, her bangs turned into moist wisps, and her eyes became gin weighted. I asked her to put on music and she danced over to her stereo, picking out a record. 

"You like Helene le Grand?" She asked.

"I don't know."

"She makes me feel like I don't have anything to say that hasn't been said before."

"How unpleasant."

"No, it's very grounding."

She sat down and gulped her gin, then she closed her eyes as the music came on. She knew I was staring at her, and when Helene le Grand began to sing, so did she. She sang with a low voice that reverberated in her rib cage... I tried not to be uncomfortable and tapped my foot to the song, like an imbecile. The song spiraled up into the incense smoke, and my date's voice began to tremble, and suddenly, she began to cry.

My heart began to race and she kept singing, tears flowing down her cheek, salting her gin. She hiccuped with emotion, so touched by the song. I wiped her tears away, to play along, and I figured it was a good time to kiss her, so I leaned over and tried to match her passion with some of my own, and even though I knew she was bad news, unstable, I wanted to see how things played out, at least for a few nights, because in the end, mistakes are the only real fun to be had...

1 comment:

  1. Fuuuuck. Gnashing? Really? Do you even bother to look up the meaning or weight of these words? If you spent as much energy choosing your words as you did applying sentences to that last sentence, perhaps you would write something that didn't sound like the first person of an incredibly pasty man.

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