And there she went

To say the least, we'd all taken in a little too much of the potent nectar (we were bombed), but too much about the night was undeniably sweet. The Braves had dropped another game that few of us even bothered to watch, in the midst of tossing peanuts around the section and drinking too much of the $7 stadium beer. Somehow, an agreement was made to meet back up at the bar that we had left prior to the game, an idea not too bright given the number of us who badly just needed to go home and sleep it off, or at least spend a couple of woesome hours in recovery at any of the nearest illuminated, school-bus-yellow Waffle Houses.

So we went. As I was trying to get back into the car, I slammed my leg into the door, jamming my keys into my thigh. "Oh...my Uterus!" I exclaimed, grotesquely. Laughter erupted, though I hardly noticed it or the sharp leg pain that would result in a five-inch purple bruise on my left thigh the next day. I just wanted to get to our destination, one last chance to see her, maybe to even express something to her, I didn't know. Nothing was premeditated, it was just starting to happen and I couldn't correctly explain why.

Somewhere in the midst of the game, perhaps during the seventh inning stretch (God, was there one? Where was I? Oh, yes, getting more beer...last call, you know), events that I could no longer supress or control were beginning to weigh down upon my shoulders like the world's heft on Atlas, heavy and overbearing, but somehow filled with purpose and infinite possibilities. What if I just let it go? What if I affirm it? What then? What now? Fuck, if only my old self were there, I'd know...instead, that twisted fucker called Hunter had come out for the party and there was no sense in trying to regain my former ego. It was a night for the weird to go pro, and the weird were out in force in the upper deck of Turner Field.

She had been prodding my back throughout the game with her feet, always yelling out "sorry" but with a impish giggle that suggested that the pokes were no mistake. Indeed, they were not. Fuck, no...this was serious now, man. This was the culminating event of all those mornings talking about school, about frustrations and fun, all from nearly ten months ago when I saw her for the first time, that first opportunity where I saw the raven-haired girl for the first time. She had signalled that she was dating, so I assumed all bets were off...not that I'd be betting the farm on it, anyway, given the events of the spring of 2006 and my emotional state of being at this first meeting opportunity.

The bitter taste of rejection still lingering on my tongue at the time, I couldn't find the means to express passion or emotion to a female anymore. Indeed, I had made up my mind that there was no place for a woman in my future life, that an existence of solitude and isolation was the only route to go. Hell, it couldn't be all that bad...I'd simply become more devoted to my job and become a better shaper of young people's minds. I had, to be sure, improved in my focus and dedication throughout the year, and my performance had reached an apex that I longed to build higher. Despite the success, though, a hole was torn into my conscience that had been allowing too much of my joy and love for my craft to seep out. The hole had been opened by a woman who cared more about the material and less about the emotional, a state of being that I can find no common ground upon.

I have never been able to associate with those without passion. If I were to somehow lose my wildly altering state of being, I'd find no point in continuing an existence in my mortal shell. I must maintain a heightened sense of professionalism at my job, or else my classroom would become a haven for song and dance and swinging from the ceilings. To maintain this stature for 180 days of every year, one must find outlets to become a beast, a mindless human devoid of care or worry. When the bite of reality bares down to hard, the only escape from its clutches is to become fluid, to become loose. If this is the case, it's best to surround yourself with like-minded individuals who know you in both the man and beast state of mind. Should you become far too fluid, only those with a deeper understanding of your psyche can properly roll with the current and come crashing back on the shores of reality when the time has come. On that cool, breezy June night, I was a particle of water rolling in the Gulf of Mexico, and I had plenty of amigos along for the ride.

Note to self: teachers are the best group to do this with. Only they seem to understand the brutish reality of life and how humans cope with these realizations.

+++++++

It's rare when beauty turns its eye towards me. I see it so infrequently that when it does appear, my heart can't manage to control itself. I feel it leaping in my chest, throbbing through the thick arteries that run the laterals of my neck, sending a pounding, visible message that I'm no man to handle something so rare as this. Christ, how could I maintain this night, were it not for the booze? The more she prodded, the more I poked back, and it seemed that she even began to enjoy it...some sick, sophomoric game of cat-and-mouse between two people who may, dare I think, be interested in each other. At one point, her foot rested on my shoulder and I grabbed her shoe...in putting it back on, I noticed that she had perfect, tanned little toes. Smooth skin, bronze, moisturized by some oil or butter, who knew. God, the feel and sight of a woman, after nothing but your own coarse, unrefined flesh that you've abused since the days of backyard baseball and tree-climbing...to feel that softness, smoothness, sweet pampering, comfort, love, tenderness. Those differences between man and woman, providing truth to the sceintific law that opposite particles attract. Something primitive and long lost stirred inside me. The ball had started rolling, but where was it to land?

By the time we got back to the bar it must have been around 11:30 pm. The rain in the earlier part of the day had cooled the whole town and a sweet night breeze swept through the open patio. Nothing but candles and lanterns lit the area...it's in the sweet hues of an evening skyline and tangerine light that those curious emotions can rise from out of your throat, your heart. I could only see one side of her face as we spoke, but that was all I needed to see. Her chestnut eyes were darker and more sensuous in the night haze...her soft, thin lips formed words and laughed and expressed contentment. It was in these moments where you lose track of your physical self...there's no more size, shape or pain, there's no color or age, simply two shining beams of light and energy and soul sharing a tiny corner of the world together...glowing in the night, warm in the comfort of each other's smiles.

There were soft tones of music in the background, but I knew of no discernable melody or lyric. People clamored near the bar and spoke and drank and smoked, but none of the conversations entered my ears nor did the smoke offend my nostrils. The wind simply swept through and caused her hair to dance, sweetly and softly...the movement did not distract, but served more as a frame for a canvas, tiny strands illuminated by the light and outlining a masterpiece. Conversation went in and out, and many things and many topics were bantered about. For a moment, though, the combination of the atmopshere and the spirit combined in such a way that all worry, pain, and destruction were muted, all else surrounding the two of us had been dampened, of little importance in light of what was before me. The sight of her, the moment, all there in but a brief few seconds, woke a dormant emotion that many others before her had attempted to put to rest.

A woman and a man...my imperceptible ideal of beauty in both life and person was being made visible. Were I to die, God, I cannot imagine a better way to go.

Somehow that evil bastard Hunter began to enter the conversation, and was on the verge of ruining it for everyone, but a touch of clarity broke through and prevented him from saying what maybe should have been said, but never will be spoken. The thoughts and emotions that had been building for months were swelling up inside and were desperately wanting to break through, but I kept them down, at least for one night. It wasn't the right place or time, but there will be...and she may not be the right one, either, but there will be one of those, too.

Until then, I had but a moment where I felt like a man again, where I felt maybe a twinge of that old elixir of newfound love and passion that I hadn't felt in so many moons. It felt good, and she felt right, and the time felt wonderful...and there she went.

And here I am. Alone.