The disappearing act

When I first saw you, I thought you were beautiful. Tall, tanned, Indian. And  I looked like me, awkward, weird. But I knew it was you I wanted. The most brilliant mind in our year. I wanted to pick your brain, even if you wouldn’t look me in my eyes, even if your lips wouldn’t linger on mine, I was infatuated with your mind.

on a winter’s night. I  wore my converse, and nearly not enough makeup, to the solstice ball with all arrays of fair beauties with rosy cheeks and bodycon dresses.

“This is lame,” I thought; leaning on the wall, nursing my gin and tonic, watching folks reveling. Amid that dim neon florescent hall, I recognized you in a navy suit.

I recall how suave you looked. I remember an intense current course through me like never before. I stopped thinking. If I didn’t; I would inevitably convince myself how terrible the idea was. I downed my drink, hauling myself from the wall, then I met you at your heel.

I was jittery when I yelled;

“do you want to dance with me?, you lowered your ear close to me on my ground, so I repeated it. You said, “okay”.

I began to move my heels, then my hips. I closed my eyes so I would feel the music. I took an ephemeral moment to contain myself, the man of my dreams dancing with me, and when I opened my eyes, you were gone.

I wish I could say I didn’t expect it. I wish I had disappeared instead.

2 thoughts on “The disappearing act

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