Just One Night

She stumbled out of his apartment taking steps under a black sky with vodka breath. She held her sandals in one hand and purse in the other. Electricity coursed through her. Life bubbled inside of her. She felt like she was high on the feeling of him.

He lay there on the bed emptied. The window was open and the night breeze cooled him. She had taken everything from him yet, he was left with something new. Although the room was spinning, he felt still inside. A sort of peace. He just lay there with his eyes open so that he wouldn’t forget her.

He slept more deeply than he had in months. It’s like she had reminded him what life was supposed to feel like. Like how to sleep again. He remembered the way she smelled. Of honey. He remembered the way she felt. Like freedom.

She awoke to a water droplet painted window and a pitter pattering outside. It wasn’t even five. She sat up, pulled on her robe and fell into the single chair on her box of a balcony and lit a cigarette. Like a flashback she remembered the way his black as night eyes looked at her as if she could save him.

While her coffee brewed she danced around her apartment in her underwear to Florence and The Machine. She danced in her kitchen. In her living room. In her bedroom. In front of the bathroom mirror. With her hips swaying and her arms in the air. It felt like she was on top of the world. The way she had stood up on his bed almost falling over dancing to music in her head. How he had laughed with kindness in his eyes.

His sneakers pounded the pavement. His breathing heavy. Water beads formed on his face. He picked up his pace. Images of her soft lips. Of her small breasts. Of her coy smile. He would run until he found her.

The same bar. Another night. Wooden tabletops. Dimmed lighting. Heavily poured drinks. He looked for her. His eyes scanning the room on high alert. But after too many vodkas all the women started to look the same. He thought of how she laughed for no reason and how that had made him happy as he pulled a tall brunette under his arm who smelled of whiskey. Later as he kissed her, he imagined it was her. The laughter. The honey.

She walked down the sidewalk looking at the row of houses. She wished she could remember the outside. The color. The shape. The kinds of flowers. All she saw were the cream walls. The four poster wooden bed with the scratches. The vodka bottle and plastic cups on the nightstand. The citrus soap in the bathroom. Their clothes on the floor. The mirror hung over the bed and the glimpse of their bodies moving in sync.

The water beat down on her back. The steam rose and fogged the mirror. The sensation of the hot water hitting her skin made her feel alive again. She desperately wanted to go back to that night.

She scrubbed the dishes too hard. A broken glass. She almost cut her hand. She bent over tears falling into the sink. All her stored pain rising from deep inside her. Pain deeper than the glass could cut. Pain over a life lost and one yet to be found. She wanted to feel high again. She wanted him.

He stood in a corner of a stranger’s living room wearing a white tee shirt and running shorts. Two days of stubble on his face. He held a red cup filled with beer. He had spent the day looking for her. Asking strangers if they’d seen a girl that feels like the first day of summer. Voices and music blending together. That ache for more.

Again he didn’t sleep. This time a blonde had left in the middle of the night. Clasped her bra, pulled on her dress and left. Kept him from hating himself even more. She had offered her number. He said no. He didn’t want to recognize the women in his bed. But he couldn’t forget her. The way she had looked at him like there were reasons to be happy.

She had too much to drink. Fell into bed with a man twice her age. They met at a bar. He had ocean blue eyes and arm muscles that bulged from beneath his shirt. She wanted him to take away her pain. The pain she was afraid of. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He looked beyond her to painting on the wall. She missed his black eyes that locked into hers.

He sat in his car in an empty parking lot at dusk. He bounced his knee up and down and watched the clock. She was five minutes late. His blood felt hot. She appeared by his window. In a short teal dress and gold sandals. He opened the door and she slid right in. He handed her the money. She placed her hand on his thigh ready to unbutton his jeans.

When he got home he felt like he needed to shower. Like there was something on his skin he needed to scrub off. He stood under the hot water under the bright lights. No amount of scrubbing could get the sensation off his skin. He scrubbed until the water grew cold and then as if the temperature change to ice reached inside him tugging at him, he began to cry. Sobbing — he held onto the corners of the shower to keep himself from falling.

She couldn’t seem to find relief. It wasn’t in the bottom of a vodka bottle or with a man twice her age in between the sheets. She had nothing to hold onto and that made her afraid. But she just sat there with a cup of tea and she thought of his sad black eyes and how a flicker of hope had passed through them. She would hold onto this. She would feel hopeful too.

She sat on her balcony with her coffee having been woken by the birds. Their song made her smile. She thought about swimming. She loved to swim. She decided she would go to the pond. Jump right in. Remind herself what the water felt like against her skin. Embrace the summer sun.

He sat on his porch staring up at the stars looking for constellations like when he was little. He didn’t feel restless. There was space inside. He could just be there and look up at the stars under the summer sky. He didn’t know her name yet she was so much more than a stranger.

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash