Story Sunday (late): Coffee
I cannot remember under what pretense I followed her into the kitchen, probably some foolish reason that she and I both knew was a lie. The kitchen however is where most things happen. It is the hub of a home and any party goer worth their salt knows that the kitchen is where you have your drunken one to ones and make those false connections that shatter as dawn approaches. So the kitchen was as fine a place as any to say my piece.
We chatted about inconsequential things, of where we were both metaphorically ‘at’. I was slovenly slouched against the worktop and desperately trying to appear less drunk and more eloquent than I actually was. She stood away from me, leaning against the opposite worktop. We mirrored each other, her drinking water and I drinking coffee that was far too hot and was burning my tongue.
She seemed calm and collected, a part of the ether, whereas I was all wires and energy, firmly rooted to the ground. Rooted into the night as she was not.
I was swimming in the moment and she was flying overhead, acknowledging the commotion below yet knowing that soon it would pass.
We spoke frankly to one another, as is how we always talk. My dutch courage and honest nature however are no match for her fleet mind.
I do not use the word fleet to imply that she is running. She is merely apart and when she is apart she will try her best to maintain that stance. She ostracizes herself. Completely extracts herself from a situation to view it and think on it alone. This is usually my preferred vantage point but for this night, I am very much deep in the foray.
‘My drunken mind has its impulses,’ I say ‘If I were a weaker person, a less moral person, I could turn this night ugly. Within these impulses lurks an almost overwhelming urge to kiss you.’
I am not even sure if this was in context to anything I was saying beforehand, in fact, with hindsight I remember only the barest bones of our conversation. Oh what a drunken fool I was.
She looks at me with a kindness in her face but she gives nothing way. She smiles. It is not a pitying smile. A smile for someone so blatantly drunk. No, she knows me well enough by now to know that I do not make idle boasts even when caught in the throes of a drunken folly.
In the same instance though, this is not an inviting smile. Her body does not lend to me any indication that she would like me to pursue my impulse, nor does it signify to me that I should not heed my impulse.
Her smile is an acceptance. She accepts what I have said. That is all.
‘I wont though,’ I add ‘As much as I would love to. Truly I would love to, I have far to much respect for the girl that sleeps just on the other side of this wall. It is but an impulse I wished to share with you. Not one I will act on when in my present state. Were I bolder or more full of alcohol, perhaps I would act. Were I a careless person, I would have already acted. Of course this is all based on the assumption that you would react.’
And this is where I look to her for just that, a reaction. I do not wish an answer from her. Just to read the little signals she sends out.
To say that she is hard to read would be a lie. She is easy to read if you can first understand the basic juxtaposition that writhes beneath the surface.
She is closed, not just in this, in many things. It is not a bad thing and I am certain she does not know why she is closed or what she has closed off. In fact, she is very much open about how closed she is. I do not find it alarming or frustrating, I just accept that this is how she is and it makes it all the more interesting for me to try and read her. I find it completely endearing, it could possibly be one of the things I like best about her.
‘You know what I think.’ she says coyly.
My hand invites her to continue and enlighten me even though we covered this ground but a few hours ago. This drunken haze has made me forgetful.
‘That it would have been better for us to have met at a different time.’
There she is right. We both know now that there is nothing more we can say or do. Things are as they are and they will play themselves out as should be. We are merely the dancers and we dance together frequently. We refrain from touch or being overly familiar with one another yet we still place ourselves in these dangerous situations.
Between us there is an energy. I like to think of it like a ribbon connecting us. I don’t need to kiss her to know that she can feel that connection. Our attraction is not based in the physical and it never will be, not to say that the attraction isn’t there on that level, it is just irrelevant. The ribbon is more than that.
So we retire to the safety of the other room. The room where her lover lies waiting and my bed beckons me. To have acted on my impulse would have made a dangerous situation into a fatal one and we both knew it.
Some people say intent is not the same as deed but as we both laid down to sleep on separate beds, I couldn’t help but feel like we had cheated.
