Kissed

I got kissed at the post apocalypse ball (weapons optional) at the Fez on Saturday night.  I wore my boots and a couple of layers of sheer black dress and miniskirt and goggles with lots of black eye makeup, and tucked a post-apocalypse celebration cigar in the bra- strap on my shoulder.  

I got there around 9, before the party really got started so I could find a good corner to park and people watch. I wasn’t there very long before the guy sitting next to me leaned over and introduced himself as Sean.

My first impression was that he looked like a young Russell Crowe.  He wore dark sunglasses, even in the black room – faded jeans and t-shirt and a beat up biker jacket and work boots.  Long curly hair and an easy smile gave him the sort of charming cheeky look of Jack Burton, (Kurt Russell’s character from Big Trouble in Little China).

He was heavy-set, and young, only 26.

And god help me – I was so hot for him.

He started off chatty and jovial and had such a great sense of humor that as time passed and he inched more and more into my space, I didn’t object.

After about an hour of small talk, Skysidhe still hadn’t showed and Sean’s right shoulder was completely pressed against my left side. 

I struggled with my familiar sensation to get up and bolt, run like the wind and don’t look back, but surprisingly I also found that I actually enjoyed his weight against my body.  Then he leaned over, took his glasses off and asked, with absolute sincerity – “What‘s your philosophy on the nature of the Universe?”

I burst out laughing. Just cut to the chase, right? Small talk is over; let’s get down to important stuff.

So it happened that as we debated the nature of the Universe, the rhythm of the cosmos and the personal beliefs another hour disappeared under companionable talk.  The dance floor filled with Goths and Punks and spiked-tattooed and chain wrapped partiers. There were more goggles than I could shake a stick at, and enough black leather to rebuild the bison herds. And as we commented on the costumes, and life and adventure and writing… he crept yet closer to my body, and rested one hand on my thigh.

Still, I did not run.

Then he began to ask questions of a very personal nature. About my relationships, sex and so on.  I was comfortable enough with him to answer honestly and not feel pressured – then out of the blue he asked, “Are you attracted to me?”

I didn’t hesitate, “Yes.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Uhhh, can I think about it for a minute?” I asked.

He smiled and sat back.  The conversation turned back to the costumes and Finally, Skysidhe showed up in her corset and ripped satin skirts and a long chain wrapped around her wrist with a dangling cast iron skillet attached to the end.  I could tell by the look on her face, that the very last thing she’s expected to see – was me, Athena with a strange man in my space – and me being not freaked out! Despite not being freaked, I was ridiculously grateful to see her, and promptly asked about the skillet, because – well, who wouldn’t wonder why my girl is packing a cast iron cooking implement on the end of a chain.

“Oh,” she supplied happily. “This is my post apocalypse weapon.” She held it up with pride, “You can kill people with it OR you can kill Zombies with it OR you can cook lunch.”

Brilliant.

Sean gave me his phone number and although he seemed reluctant to leave, his friend was pressuring him to go – so he began to say goodbye and walk away, before coming back, meeting my eyes – and bending down to kiss me.  Soft lips touched against mine, not with possession or urgency, but almost a tentative question – a hopeful memorizing of my mouth. And then he was gone, through the crowd, past the undulating bodies crush on the dance floor and obscured by the smoky haze of cigarettes and fog machines.

Skysidhe looked at me, somewhat surprised and I was tempted to tell her that her frying pan had scared him away.

I relived the moment in my mind, his face coming toward mine, curly hair falling forward to brush my cheeks and the heat of his body close enough to radiate up my legs.

Earlier in the evening we’d been discussing the ephemeral nature of chance encounters such as ours. A break in the chaos or rhythm of life for a meaningful conversation that will likely never become more than a few hours at a night club and the aftershocks of thoughts until the memory is forgotten.  

He asked if I thought it was a waste of time because we would likely never see each other again, and I said, “Absolutely not!” What a horrible question. “I think that some of the most meaningful moments are deeper and more profound this way.”

I might have a conversation with Skysidhe, but because I’ve known her for 14 years and I know I will see her anytime we want, there is the laziness of being only partially into conversations with her.

“When I know it’s possible that I will never see someone again, I think it soaks into my awareness more.  Each second is important.  Each word stronger than it would be on its own. It’s the fleeting and temporary connection that can sometimes be the most profound inspiration. Such things are never a waste of time.”

I drove home at 1am and jammed out to The Who and wondered if I will have the courage to call, or if the connection was fabulous because it was simply meant to be a moment in time.  I’m still thinking.