I was attempting to take the remote, hoping to switch to the next music video that is not from an artist who made headlines. But a stranger took my hand in his instead, and made me slow dance to it in my robe, twirling me around to old R&B tunes, singing the lyrics without any shame or guilt. I tried to get the remote from him, but he's too quick in his steps, distracting me by the way he moves, keeping me from the object. I matched his movements then, finally giving up, loving the light-hearted mood and quiet laughter, his ability to be at ease. When the song ended, he kissed me, fully, caressing his tongue with mine until my arms circled his neck, until my legs wrapped around his waist.
I suddenly remembered what it was like to feel blissfully content, to live in the moment and surrender to the unexpected joys of the present, the unknown adventures of tomorrow. Did the stranger take in the sights like I took in mine? Did he take in the view as I straddled his lap, my legs on either side of him on the bed, massaging my tongue against his as the city quietly watches? Did he take in the early moans at noon, the quiet sighs at night…the laughs, the blushes, the smiles, the warmth…the late night talks, the comfort in silence? I should have been nervous sleeping next to a man I barely knew. I should have been nervous talking deeply to a man who jokes and speaks sarcasm like the rest of them, and is yet observant. I should have been nervous spending a couple nights with a man who kisses my neck, then wraps his fingers around my throat. But when I lay next to him, when his arms wrap around my body or takes my hand in his, I feel that sense of security once again, that sense of calmness that was hidden away from me years ago. I'm able to breathe again, to take it in, and just breathe. Strange, isn't it? To write. About a present moment in time. But I write to break the silence, to herd off the storms inside my head that I wish rested in the sea. I write to expose what I'm unable to express, what's beyond the locked chains and stone brick walls, what no one could--what everyone should, see. I'm not sure why I'm writing about a stranger who had no right to disturb the dead, to interrupt the process of a young woman attempting to rid the toxins exposed to her skin and blood-filled veins, to disrupt others from violating another petal from her thorns. I'm not sure why he has such an effect on the mind with all sorts of chips, lumps, dents…and hollow abysses waiting to be fallen into. I've heard the stories before. I've been through the similar tide. I've seen the patterns, witnessed the woes…but this territory, this uncharted territory, doesn't sit well in my belly. And what doesn't sit well in my belly-
Ding! Oh.
He messaged me.
He's here.
I turn off the music that played a '90s love song, and unplug the aux cord from my phone. I turn off the engine then, and look at myself in the rearview mirror. I release a deep, heavy sigh, a breath I didn't know I was holding.
Don't assume, now. Don't overthink. Don't take his words so seriously.
He doesn't like that.