Night

She leans against the sloppily grouted brick wall, arms loosely crossed, drink in one hand and a slow burning cigarette in the other. Her chic pump propped against the brick, a chocolate dress hugging her slender figure, effortlessly. Yes, that's the word: effortless. She's the epitome of it. How is one born with such full pink lips and long, flowing red hair? Jaw as sharp as glass and eyes large and blue like the sea. The gods did right by her, evidently. She's tall, poised, nothing is wrong with her, it seems. Which probably means everything is wrong with her. Her eyes scan the cozy jazz bar tucked away on 44th street. There's a faint smirk on her lips as she looks a gentleman wearing an extremely wrinkled suit up and down, disapprovingly. I chuckle to myself. Who is this woman? What's her story?

Quickly, as if she'd heard what I'd wondered, her gaze snaps to mine. Our eyes lock. I can feel a beed of sweat trickle down my temple. Shit. I keep eye contact trying my best to remain calm and collected and watch as she pushes off the wall she is leaning against with her shimmery heel. She begins to confidently glide across the room in my direction. I can't read her face. I have no idea what she wants, but a small hope has risen inside of me that promises the possibility of conversation, at the very least.

She passes a table seating six gentlemen, all dressed to the nines, laughing and gesturing at one another. As she does, one calls out, "Marie! Is that you, darling? Oh, how long it's been!" The mention of her name broke our steady stare. A sign that my hopes were just hopes. She turns, smiles, and exclaims, "Jerry Longfield, is that you? Why, I haven't seen you since grad school! How are you?"

I turn my gaze downward and peer into my empty glass. Time for a refill, I think dejectedly. I start to make my way to the bar, abandoning the corner I had adopted. The bartender takes my glass and before I can submit my order, he hands me back an old fashioned. "What a saint." I say, accepting the drink graciously. "Hardly, you're just easy to read, my friend." He says with a small laugh. I sigh and give him a nod. Am I really that obvious?

I decide to stay seated at the bar rather than weave my way back to my corner. I sneak a glance back towards the table of rambunctious men to my right. The red headed angel is nowhere to be seen. Why do I always get my hopes up? Some things are just too good to be true, I guess. "Hi." I jerk my head away from the men to my left. It's her. She takes the open seat next to me. I have never wanted to be a seat more in my entire life. Specifically the one she so gracefully filled. "Hello." I said nervously. Why did it come out that way? Shit. Be a man. "Don't look so surprised, I thought you wanted to talk." Her voice reminded me of rushing water, smooth and deep. She gingerly placed her small, ivory hand on top of mine sending what felt like a thousand volts of electricity surging through my body. "I did! I mean I do! I just figured the moment had passed when you started talking to one of the ridiculous six." A flustered fuck, that's what I sounded like. She laughed at my jab towards the men. "Well, you figured wrong."

We spent the rest of the night engaged in surprisingly deep conversation, discussing the entirety of our lives so far. From our occupations down to our political stance and everything in between. When the bar emptied and we were asked to leave, we continued our chatter while walking the streets of New York City, arm in arm. It felt like we were destined to cross paths. The old, yet familiar feeling of falling in love settled in my chest. Little did I know that night would be the night that would mark a new beginning. The beginning of the end.