March 14, 2003
Drift Away, or, The Meaning of It All
I can't begin to talk about last night. I wish I could quote him, as I always do, I wish I could paint an elaborate image with words and suggestions, as I always do, I wish I could capture in so many syllables and gestures of these keys the impossible beauty of an evening. This evening was beyond me, beyond my vocabulary, beyond the English language and all the intricacies of expression.
I could say that I sang and he had three drinks at the bar. I wouldn't be lying, but it wouldn't mean anything.
I could say we danced and I felt laughter like boiling water in my throat, unable to be cooled, and I wouldn't be lying, but you would not be able to hear it.
The floor was white with black checks, black with white checks, Mike's sneakers bounced between the colours, dragging me with him, his hands transferring sweat to my skin, his mouth alcohol to mine. Into my ears he poured praise and sentiment, swearing to me it was not the beer seeping slowly into his blood.
He told me it was like that Eric Clapton song, 'Wonderful Tonight.' The night was wonderful, I was wonderful, and he was looking at me with stars in his eyes.
At some point, I became so overwhelmed I could neither cry nor speak.
We had an aura. It followed me onstage, when I gave my second place performance. It slipped in between our bodies as I butchered the Booty Call with my utter lack of rhythm and Mike with his pressing need for improvisation. It pillowed on the seats of the truck as we drove home, as Mike placed a hand on the back of my neck, as his fingers worked themselves into my hair, as we promised eachother to return next week, inebriated.
Settled in his bed with unprompted kisses, those same stars that were in his eyes spreading their glow to his skin, lending a foreign light to mine, setting the sheets aflame.
Mike holds me above him, I can see the dark outline of his hair and nothing else but his eyes.
"You say I make you happy." His fingers are guiding honesty into my skin. "You make me happy, Jill."
I held onto him, and I didn't let go.
astera at 1:54 p.m.