I awoke in a café that I had never been inside,
sitting with a woman I only knew second hand.
She
was drunk, blatantly so, and when she attempted to stand she nearly fell
backwards. Telling her to sit, I steadied her as she did. The sole act of touching her triggered
feelings of melancholy. I longed for someone. Not her, but she would do for
now. It was because of these feelings that the notion to kiss her bloomed in my
mind even as it made my heart ache.
It
was in spite of this fact, or because of it then I found myself incapable of even
looking at her. My eyes affixed to the tabletop in some type of shameful state.
Regardless, I pulled her close but realizing the impulse to kiss her had
already faded, I settled for a gentle smooch on her brow, rather than the lips
I had wanted.
She
told me that I had dozed, which explained nothing of the café. The air within
the place was thick with confusion, mystery and intangible hope. That thought
led to another: I had been dreaming as I dozed. It was a dream that I had no
need to see. Basking in images of pain that should have been left in the past,
I remembered how at one time reliving these things seemed to serve a purpose.
Embarrassment, rescued me from revisiting them in detail.
People
began streaming into the already crowded café. Because of my companions
inebriation she told me that she needed my help to leave, to get through them.
Refusing to look at her, I agreed to hold her as we waded through too many
patrons in expensive clothes.
For
a time, we helped each other make our way outside. Silence grew between us, and
things had a vague feel of near-comfort. In a whisper framed by a faint slur,
she told me we would find answers. This had some appeal. Together, we headed
towards the street, her warm in her drunkenness and I wrapped in my desire to
know something.
