There are some nights when, for whatever reason, I can’t even remember what your face looks like. Whether it’s stress or fatigue or alcohol, I cannot conjure up your face in my mind. Like last night.
I’d never felt so awake, so energized. So at 11:00, afraid that I may actually rip my skin off or go stir crazy if I sat in my apartment for another minute, I left for the casino. Heels, blouse, full makeup, perfect hair, earrings, and a confident swagger brought on by something I couldn’t identify. Table was hot and so was I.
A few hours later I had tripled my stack. High fives, laughter, drinks flowing. I was alive, on fire, imbued with something rare and wild. Making eyes at the strangers who were making eyes at me. Smiling at the stocky blond with the square jaw at the table across the pit. It was late when the cards turned and I was tired but never more vibrant. With a jubilant farewell to the gentlemen at the table and a handsome tip to the dealer, I cashed out and let my bouncy gait carry me back to the car.
High on the thrill and all dressed up, I still had a few good hours left in me. My eyes fell shut and I imagined myself, feral and confident, swaying towards a faceless, broad-shouldered man who just happened to be sitting on my couch. Climbing towards him, straddling his lap, capturing his mouth with mine in an unprecedented affront to my insecurities.
The thought made me shiver with anticipation. I was on a roll; why stop now? A quick text message to an old flame soon landed me at Sully’s. Drink in hand, dancing in my seat to too-loud hip hop as he leaned in close to speak in my ear. He smelled of expensive cologne and light alcohol, an intoxicating combination of seduction and promise that set my head spinning. Some carefully-crafted words and strategically-placed touches to his leg worked like a charm. Ten minutes later found us exactly where I imagined: he sat on my couch, hands behind his head, grinning like a petulant schoolboy as I leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. The confidence I felt sent delicious sensations licking at my thighs. The scene played in my head again and I imagined his hands on my hips, his lips on mine, muscles beneath my fingers and not a thought to the world outside the window. The moment carried on just a tad past awkward and finally I shoved off from the doorway to make my move.
At the same time that he observed, “That’s a very interesting-looking fish you’ve got there.”
My new betta. Twitch.
And then he was up, across the room, tapping on the bowl.
My stomach sank. I suddenly felt utterly ridiculous in my low-cut blouse and trouser jeans, high heels and thick makeup. My confidence vanished, the mood passed, and I sank to the couch, resigned and rejected. Told him the story of how I came to own the fish, how he got his name. Then Fancy appeared from nowhere and he mooned over her for a while and sat down next to me.
I had been sultry and vixenish all night long; he knew what was on my mind. I waited for him to make his move. Instead, we spoke of politics (American and British), the illusion of diversity, the $8.00 drink he bought me and what I could do to make it up to him, his allergy to cats, finances and retirement, our mutual aversion to regularly-scheduled television programming, the increasingly-late hour, what turns us on and what turns us off, the languages we studied in college, and sleep-deprived nonsense. At 5:45 am, I laid my pride to rest and drove him home. I watched the sunrise from my empty couch and then went to bed.
With your face in my mind.
