ah, limbo, such an odd place to be. well to be more accurate i am actually in anderson, south carolina, and before you get all wigged out that i am not capitalizing anything, it is not a ludicrous attempt to imitate e.e. cummings, though i do love the man, it's simply that the laptop i am working with here has a faulty caps lock key and i am just not used to the shift key enough to care to utilize it instead. so there, relax.
anyhow, i have had loads of time for introspection whilst on my extended stay in the south and i have come across a startling realization!
i am not very honest with myself. if i were i wouldn't have such a hard go of things. let me backtrack to the real story at hand here. the story that inevitably lead to this daunting discovery.
it was six days ago. a balmy night with a splash of rain that didn't do anything to diminish the heat and i was out with my aunt. out in the electric city.
i met a man. or rather he met me. he came over to talk to us and though i looked good, yep i looked real good. my thin frizzy hair was voluminous and coiffed. my feet snug in razor-sharp heels. my outfit, vintage and chic. but all that aside i still assumed the man was coming over to talk to my aunt. she's a looker, okay? in fact only yesterday a man told her she was a woman who could stop traffic. i burned with envy. i never stop traffic, i sulkily pouted in my mind. anyway. digression. back to the story.
but no, the man wanted to talk to me. hmm. i wasn't really interested at first if truth be told. though he had black rimmed glasses,(my fave and a borderline prerequisite) dimples and a military physique(or so my aunt pointed out, i stopped noticing after the glasses) i just didn't see the point.
but when i felt his smile on my face repeatedly i let down my guard and asked him what he did for a living to try and make polite conversation.
i am a musician, he said.
say no more, i thought. you had me at musician. but i was hooked now, so a barrage of questions left my lips with my excitement that i had met someone who gets it. who has a passion like i have a passion.
i find it very attractive that you're a writer, he commented after i found out he, unlike myself, actually makes money at his craft and can effectively play instrumentals.
he gets it!
then he complimented my appearance. i felt good. womanly, noticeably good.
he nervously asked for my number. he later walked me to my car(my aunt trailing a few feet behind). southern hospitality indeed. his name, that he shares with another musician, that i won't share here is perfect. so i said it. i said it was nice to meet him and i wished him all the best in his music career if i didn't see him again.
he shook his head.
i'll see you again, he said with certainty. then he kissed me.
i made sure it was only a peck, a mere flutter of lips to lips because i didn't want to be some girl he tongued in a parking lot. i beamed at him. i hoped that when he pulled me in for not one but two hugs that his cologne would seep into the fabric of my vest. it did.
he opened my car door and closed it. i drove home to the stream of chatter from my aunt in the passenger seat, repeating his name and his impressables like a chant.
well. i'll tell you, of course, but not right now. a little suspense never hurt anybody. besides this is only just the beginning.