The waitress was a bitch. You mentioned it. Twice, I'm not sure. You mentioned roman history. I'd never been captivated by a man's foretelling of intelligence. I couldn't stop listening, though, just lightly intrigued by the subject. The time came to leave. The waitress came in a huff. You mentioned her tattoos were nice. I mentioned her tattoos were nice. I mentioned she probable got that a lot. I mentioned I wanted to go into tattooing maybe. We left. You took me in front of a bar across the way. We didn't go in at all. Told me that was the place to go on the weekends, for good up and coming music, not well known, but always packed. We hummed and hawed at where to go next. You rested on an old reliable. Things got intimate. Alcohol poured more frequently. Topics became more explicit. Eye contact deeper. Bodies closer.
"I have a blender, a Maurita mix at my house, you have to try"
I thought of an ugly green couch for some reason, an open spaced apartment living room and a bay window overlooking the busy street below for some reason.
You thought about the check.
The apartment was dark.
The surroundings numerous.
Books lined both walls.
You said you would not admit to the percentage you had read. I thought to myself, that meant, like my own percentage, that it was small. But no it wasn't.
I asked where you bought the shelves. you said you had made them yourself. I was impressed. You said it came from working hard in the mountains of Oregon. I was looking deeper into your eyes by that time. Becoming unsettled for some reason. We sat in two adjacent chairs, terribly uncomfortable, camping chairs!
I let go.
I let you in.
I warmed you up with my cold exterior of the realities I had lived in, was living in, not a lie lay between us for a span of five minutes. Maybe the only five minutes we ever had.
I looked darkly, intensely into your eyes and said what didn't need to be said "I don't think lightly of life"
You said your attraction by moving to the bedroom, eventually that night.
I swear you picked up they most boring video game in the world, on purpose, an old detective game.
I thumbed the video game over in my hands, laying face down on your bed, you on the floor in front of the only TV in the house. Silver. I, we, things grew silent. Too silent. Too silent and you said "Do you just want to hold?" and I slid off the bed and into your arms without a word. It had been the first time in over four-five years I'd been held by a man, like that, four to five years!
You, I, we, took each other to the bed. We kissed. When it was "Do you want to just hold" when it was kissing and everything up to that point but not past. For hours. Until the next morning. I saw things light before my eyes I had not felt in... I saw life. I saw streets. I saw seats at restaurants. I saw birds. I saw sunrise at three am in the morning. I saw things I never knew touch could bring.
When things went too far I said "_____ what are you doing?" and you said "Anne, what do you think I'm doing?" I'd like to say I moved off you at that point, but I don't know if it was that point that I did. I did at some point and we did not cross the line everyone would think we did. But I knew in an instant I loved you. And it wasn't until today that I wasn't ashamed of that and knowing I had to let you go and be. And let myself survive, no matter what. And let myself go and be.