"I should know better than to touch the fire twice."
If she hadn't known who he was, it would have been like a fairytale. A modern, urban fairytale set in a night club with a mini-skirted, smokey-eyed princess and a brandy-sipping prince with a goatee. But it was Harley's little fairytale. Her in the club with all her girls. Having a great time, looking fantastic. A great song playing in the background. And then catching eyes with a guy across the room. Not just any guy, THAT guy. The one with swagger reverberating across the room, the one with style and sophistication, the one that made Harley blush a little just by looking at him.
The moment came. Three of her favorite friends by her side. Sporting her new Bebe dress which complimented every curve and sleek line the past six weeks at the gym had given her. One of her favorite old school Jay-Z songs blasting. And in her casual glance around the room while sipping her martini, she caught his eye. Except that it wasn't THAT guy. It was her guy, her old guy. Lewis.
Harley and Lewis were a legend in their circles. They'd been falling in and out of each other's lives since high school, never really dating but always a little more than just friends. That is until the last time. The last time they took the leap. They had a passionate, some would say epic, relationship that lasted nearly two years. Then somehow they'd fallen out of love with each other. Harley remembered the feeling well. That one day she had woken up beside him, looked at him, and knew that the passion was gone. She had imagined it was the same for him.
Of course, Harley knew more than her friends on the outside did. That the end wasn't quite as sudden as she liked to believe. There had been arguments and silence and distrust and anger. There had been hurt feelings and vindictive actions on both of their parts. And when it had finally officially ended, they both decided it was for the best. That their passion was too strong and could lead to nothing but this bitter conclusion.
Honestly, Harley hadn't really thought much about it. Sure, there had been the usual moping time period, then the rebound time period, then the moving on period. She was done with all that and had not thought much about Lewis in the past year. So it surprised her how quickly that original passion stirred in her when she saw him from across the room. How her body seemed to react to him, urging her to move towards him. The memories came back, but somehow only the good. She remembered the way he smelled, the feel of his hand in hers, the taste of him even.
Harley stood, she smiled and Lewis smiled back. She finished off her martini swiftly, took a deep breath, and began to make her way toward him.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
little red corvette
"I guess I should've known by the way you parked your car sideways that it wouldn't last."
Julian Ashland. His car was shiny. And so fast. And the only thing smoother than the ride in that car was him. He was that guy. You know, that guy you see in all those teeny bopper movies. The hero. The guy that comes into a room and everyone knows his name and wants to be seen with him. The guy that the girls would mud wrestle for in front of their grannies just to hold his hand. Julian Ashland.
The first time he spoke to me, I could have died. Like right there in the hallway at school. Could've missed science lab, been wheeled to the nurse's office, and awoken with satisfaction at just being talked to by Julian Ashland. But somehow I did not faint. From some ancestral strength deep in my soul, I smiled. We spoke about science lab and parties. About the latest rumors and the most hated teachers. It was only ten minutes, but it was great. I was coherent. I flirted and spoke in full sentences. And I found it easier to talk to him than I would have ever imagined.
The next day he was there again. More with the small talk and the flirting. But today he ended the conversation with an invitation to a movie. Again, I thought of fainting but found my knees were stronger than tree trunks. And I stood, I smiled, and said yes.
Things went from there. Nothing immediately epic like you read in the books but a consistent stream of dates, phone calls, hanging out, locker rendezvous. I was dating Julian Ashland. It was a beautiful time. Our conversations moved from general high school blues to our post-college hopes. Our time together became more intense and simultaneously more comfortable. It was a spectacularly easy, beautiful time.
And as quick and unexpected as it came, it went. He was there and then he was gone. The locker visits ended. The phone conversations were brief and tense. Dates were cancelled with an endless stream of excuses.
I imagine its the feeling one has when trying to catch a fish in an open stream. The solemn quiet while waiting, still and stiff, for a fish to come your way. The joy of finding a fish finally swimming into your hands. The battle of remaining calm enough to try to pull the fish out to face and being strong enough to hold the squirming fish in your hands. The triumph of thinking you've got a good hold on that fish. And the bitter, blinding disappointment when it slips through your hands.
But you should've known. After all that damned fish did have the advantage.
Julian Ashland. I think I'm past it now. The ride was great. The memory is perfect. Looking back, there was no real good reason why it should have started which makes it easier to accept how it ended.
Julian Ashland. His car was shiny. And so fast. And the only thing smoother than the ride in that car was him. He was that guy. You know, that guy you see in all those teeny bopper movies. The hero. The guy that comes into a room and everyone knows his name and wants to be seen with him. The guy that the girls would mud wrestle for in front of their grannies just to hold his hand. Julian Ashland.
The first time he spoke to me, I could have died. Like right there in the hallway at school. Could've missed science lab, been wheeled to the nurse's office, and awoken with satisfaction at just being talked to by Julian Ashland. But somehow I did not faint. From some ancestral strength deep in my soul, I smiled. We spoke about science lab and parties. About the latest rumors and the most hated teachers. It was only ten minutes, but it was great. I was coherent. I flirted and spoke in full sentences. And I found it easier to talk to him than I would have ever imagined.
The next day he was there again. More with the small talk and the flirting. But today he ended the conversation with an invitation to a movie. Again, I thought of fainting but found my knees were stronger than tree trunks. And I stood, I smiled, and said yes.
Things went from there. Nothing immediately epic like you read in the books but a consistent stream of dates, phone calls, hanging out, locker rendezvous. I was dating Julian Ashland. It was a beautiful time. Our conversations moved from general high school blues to our post-college hopes. Our time together became more intense and simultaneously more comfortable. It was a spectacularly easy, beautiful time.
And as quick and unexpected as it came, it went. He was there and then he was gone. The locker visits ended. The phone conversations were brief and tense. Dates were cancelled with an endless stream of excuses.
I imagine its the feeling one has when trying to catch a fish in an open stream. The solemn quiet while waiting, still and stiff, for a fish to come your way. The joy of finding a fish finally swimming into your hands. The battle of remaining calm enough to try to pull the fish out to face and being strong enough to hold the squirming fish in your hands. The triumph of thinking you've got a good hold on that fish. And the bitter, blinding disappointment when it slips through your hands.
But you should've known. After all that damned fish did have the advantage.
Julian Ashland. I think I'm past it now. The ride was great. The memory is perfect. Looking back, there was no real good reason why it should have started which makes it easier to accept how it ended.
Monday, March 8, 2010
uninvited
"Must be strangely exciting to watch the stoic squirm."
The lights in the room began to dim. And as the lights softened, so did the crowd. The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the polite interruptions of waitresses all turned into a soft hum. Almost like the constant yet comforting sound of a clothes dryer. The crowd was eager and strained to see beyond the sudden darkness to the stage. Almost silent happenings were occurring onstage. Silhouttes of people walking. The sound of stilettos trying to tiptoe into position.
Then as suddenly as the lights went down, the stage lit up. On it sat three girls in was assumedly expensive, overtly arousing outfits. A brunette with long wavy hair wearing a black jumpsuit that looked more like a second skin than an actual layer of clothing. Another brunette, this one with a sleek bob, in a barely there mini skirt and silk cami. A blond whose hair was more than halfway down her back in tight capris and a literally breathtaking corset. Three girls straddling three chairs.
And the hush deepened in the crowd. The waitresses stopped serving and themselves sat to watch the show. Drinks were nursed in effort to keep focus on the show. The women sang. They danced. Eventually they disrobed. There were some in the crowd nearly salivating by the end. Some were clearly aroused and ready to go home to their own lovers.
Then there were the ashamed few. The prude newcomers. The people's whose friend or significant other or sibling or co-worker had pushed them to come. The people who were suddenly faced with a sexuality they had run from their entire lives. The people who found their own deep-seated belief that shows were exploitation of women being overtaken by their own suppressed sexual desire. When the show ended, those people sat transfixed and embarrassed. They were frozen by their internal conflict. They were confused and disgusted by their enjoyment. They were unwilling to face the people they came with. But most of all, those people found themselves reluctant to get up in case they missed the encore.
The lights in the room began to dim. And as the lights softened, so did the crowd. The laughter, the clinking of glasses, the polite interruptions of waitresses all turned into a soft hum. Almost like the constant yet comforting sound of a clothes dryer. The crowd was eager and strained to see beyond the sudden darkness to the stage. Almost silent happenings were occurring onstage. Silhouttes of people walking. The sound of stilettos trying to tiptoe into position.
Then as suddenly as the lights went down, the stage lit up. On it sat three girls in was assumedly expensive, overtly arousing outfits. A brunette with long wavy hair wearing a black jumpsuit that looked more like a second skin than an actual layer of clothing. Another brunette, this one with a sleek bob, in a barely there mini skirt and silk cami. A blond whose hair was more than halfway down her back in tight capris and a literally breathtaking corset. Three girls straddling three chairs.
And the hush deepened in the crowd. The waitresses stopped serving and themselves sat to watch the show. Drinks were nursed in effort to keep focus on the show. The women sang. They danced. Eventually they disrobed. There were some in the crowd nearly salivating by the end. Some were clearly aroused and ready to go home to their own lovers.
Then there were the ashamed few. The prude newcomers. The people's whose friend or significant other or sibling or co-worker had pushed them to come. The people who were suddenly faced with a sexuality they had run from their entire lives. The people who found their own deep-seated belief that shows were exploitation of women being overtaken by their own suppressed sexual desire. When the show ended, those people sat transfixed and embarrassed. They were frozen by their internal conflict. They were confused and disgusted by their enjoyment. They were unwilling to face the people they came with. But most of all, those people found themselves reluctant to get up in case they missed the encore.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
look after you
"If ever there was a doubt, my love she leans into me. 'This most assuredly counts,' she says most assuredly."
Michael was leaving today. It was odd how Daniella had known this day was coming for weeks but was still surprised. She was there with him when he interviewed and then chose a renter. She helped him box up belongings. Yet, the day had come, the moment was here, and Daniella wasn't prepared. In fact, she wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or applaud or hide. Logically, she knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime for Michael. He had to take it. He had to go. But it seemed completely insane to her that he would no longer be there everyday.
In the end, Daniella decided to applaud. After all, she loved him. She loved his passion, and respected his need to embrace those things he had passion for. And no matter how he felt for her, she knew she would never be his only passion. More importantly, she didn't want to be. Daniella adored every crook and cranny of this man.
So, here they were. At the moment of departure. Michael's car was packed. The keys had been transferred. Every part of Daniella was aching. Yet while she was unsure of when this ache would end, of how this distance would affect their relationship, of what tomorrow would be like without the love of her life, she knew one thing for sure. Daniella knew that this was the right choice for Michael. That this was his opportunity, his moment to finally shine. So she hugged him. She told him she loved him. She wiped his tears away, kissed his face. She put her hand on his heart. She told him she loved him, opened his car door, and wished him a safe drive. And because she was calm, he was calm. Because she was happy for him, he was at ease to leave.
Daniella watched Michael drive off. She smiled and waved like any good woman would do. And when his car turned the corner and could no longer be seen, Daniella sat heavily on the curb where his car was just parked, put her face in her hands, and cried.
Michael was leaving today. It was odd how Daniella had known this day was coming for weeks but was still surprised. She was there with him when he interviewed and then chose a renter. She helped him box up belongings. Yet, the day had come, the moment was here, and Daniella wasn't prepared. In fact, she wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or applaud or hide. Logically, she knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime for Michael. He had to take it. He had to go. But it seemed completely insane to her that he would no longer be there everyday.
In the end, Daniella decided to applaud. After all, she loved him. She loved his passion, and respected his need to embrace those things he had passion for. And no matter how he felt for her, she knew she would never be his only passion. More importantly, she didn't want to be. Daniella adored every crook and cranny of this man.
So, here they were. At the moment of departure. Michael's car was packed. The keys had been transferred. Every part of Daniella was aching. Yet while she was unsure of when this ache would end, of how this distance would affect their relationship, of what tomorrow would be like without the love of her life, she knew one thing for sure. Daniella knew that this was the right choice for Michael. That this was his opportunity, his moment to finally shine. So she hugged him. She told him she loved him. She wiped his tears away, kissed his face. She put her hand on his heart. She told him she loved him, opened his car door, and wished him a safe drive. And because she was calm, he was calm. Because she was happy for him, he was at ease to leave.
Daniella watched Michael drive off. She smiled and waved like any good woman would do. And when his car turned the corner and could no longer be seen, Daniella sat heavily on the curb where his car was just parked, put her face in her hands, and cried.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
i wanna know
“I wish that I could take a journey through your mind and find emotions that you always try to hide.”
Archer saw her hiding before she even knew she was. They had been fighting. A vehement argument. The kind that, upon climax, ends in either passionate intimacy or days of silence. As the fight had escalated, Archer was sure this was one that would end passionately. Although he hid it from Lana, his anger had already subsided and he was more than ready to move on to the make-up part of the game.
Then he saw her hide. He was so caught up in the motions of the fight that he truly wasn’t even sure what he had said. Archer thought but he couldn’t find his words, whatever painful chord of truth he had struck in Lana. But he saw her face. The brief moment where the surprise and pain and shame and disappointment shook her, the moment her façade immediately faltered and she was more vulnerable than he had ever seen.
Archer stepped towards her. He wanted nothing more to comfort her, fight or sex be damned. But the moment had passed and now she was hiding. Her face was no longer angry from the fight. And what was most carefully hidden was that flash of vulnerability. It had vanished, and had taken Lana with it. True, she was standing there in front of him. Her face was poised, her stance confident, her voice steady. Too poised, too confident, too steady. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She had retreated to some safe, inner place. A place Archer desperately wanted to touch, to see, to hold and comfort, but a place which he was strictly forbade.
So this fight ended in silence. A silence that Archer knew would end in a few days. But this silence would be different than the ones before. This one came with the unsettling realization for Archer that there was a broken part of Lana. A part that she wasn’t ready to fix, or to even take the first step towards fixing by sharing. A broken part that planted a seed of doubt in Archer about he and Lana’s relationship. And Archer wasn’t sure if he could or should ignore it.
Archer saw her hiding before she even knew she was. They had been fighting. A vehement argument. The kind that, upon climax, ends in either passionate intimacy or days of silence. As the fight had escalated, Archer was sure this was one that would end passionately. Although he hid it from Lana, his anger had already subsided and he was more than ready to move on to the make-up part of the game.
Then he saw her hide. He was so caught up in the motions of the fight that he truly wasn’t even sure what he had said. Archer thought but he couldn’t find his words, whatever painful chord of truth he had struck in Lana. But he saw her face. The brief moment where the surprise and pain and shame and disappointment shook her, the moment her façade immediately faltered and she was more vulnerable than he had ever seen.
Archer stepped towards her. He wanted nothing more to comfort her, fight or sex be damned. But the moment had passed and now she was hiding. Her face was no longer angry from the fight. And what was most carefully hidden was that flash of vulnerability. It had vanished, and had taken Lana with it. True, she was standing there in front of him. Her face was poised, her stance confident, her voice steady. Too poised, too confident, too steady. She wasn’t fighting anymore. She had retreated to some safe, inner place. A place Archer desperately wanted to touch, to see, to hold and comfort, but a place which he was strictly forbade.
So this fight ended in silence. A silence that Archer knew would end in a few days. But this silence would be different than the ones before. This one came with the unsettling realization for Archer that there was a broken part of Lana. A part that she wasn’t ready to fix, or to even take the first step towards fixing by sharing. A broken part that planted a seed of doubt in Archer about he and Lana’s relationship. And Archer wasn’t sure if he could or should ignore it.
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