X - don't be disappointed, 'cause this is way lame.
I get so tired of waiting sometimes.
For something to happen; to wake up someplace else. Like I'm traveling without ever arriving, you know, or seeing the direction in which I'm headed. Even now as my mind concocts these thoughts and adjusts them into neat little abstracts I haven't a clue as to where it's going. Usually it's this roundabout way of thinking that brings me to the same conclusion each time: it's me. It isn't life or waiting in line or waiting for the answer to fall into my lap. I'm the one not going anywhere. Which might explain why I'm at Cate's house in the first place. I light another Belmont, five remaining now, watching outside as the rain turns into dampened snow. Adore loops on the stereo.
Women take forever.
I met Cate at a party in college. Where else but college, that magical sort of place where young people go to conduct important social experiments, acquire degrees and diplomas. They set out upon the world expecting to get it all back. It was a Halloween party at her roommate's boyfriend's house, at this dilapidated structure perched like a carrion bird on the outskirts of town, water damaged and forgotten and beautiful. I didn't own much in the way of costumes; I never invested much in that sort of thing after quitting the guild three years ago. You'd think for a theatre group there'd be less bullshit theatrics and more, well, art. Wasn't a total loss. I won this sweet mask at my last year of Improv Olympics so I wore it to the party. To complement it's myriad shades of blue I wore a matching pinstripe suit and showed up. Cate came as the 'Fett.
I know, right?
There wasn't a single person who didn't want her at that party. Even though we had known one another previously, and for quite some time before that Halloween, there wasn't a single trace of recognition in her eyes when she wrapped her arms around my neck in greeting and said "Mm, usted debe ser el Relámpago Azul!" her breath heavy with Cuervo and beer. We were together the entire night, firing shot after shot at our livers, hoisting one another over top of the keg. She confided in me that she'd had this friend who she couldn't see anymore. There'd been some kind of incident in the past, or something. I was far too interested in her costume. "Don't be disappointed, eh? I'm not sure about him, anymore." she said.
That night it became more and more apparent that she had no idea who I was. I sought to keep that way. My mask, it was form-fitting, skin-tight; it laced-up in back so it could not be removed with ease. It left slits in the stretchy fabric for my eyes and mouth; just enough to stay hidden. At one point I wore her helmet over my mask not just because I dug her costume but because I just wanted to stare at her. Her aquiline brows, her perfectly formed features, those dusky eyes and raised cheekbones. A tangle of silky hair, matted with sweat from the mask and with a wayward few standing sideways on her head. Her peacock-feathers.. A flood of light fills the street and I'm remembered what I came here for.
I step out of the car, popping my umbrella. Casually I button my blazer while Cate walks down the steps. I open her door.
"Ahh, such a gentleman!" she muses. "And you look quite handsome," her hand gracing my cheekbone.
A dip of the head is my only response, and a smile. I cannot feel her hand beneath the luchador mask.
For something to happen; to wake up someplace else. Like I'm traveling without ever arriving, you know, or seeing the direction in which I'm headed. Even now as my mind concocts these thoughts and adjusts them into neat little abstracts I haven't a clue as to where it's going. Usually it's this roundabout way of thinking that brings me to the same conclusion each time: it's me. It isn't life or waiting in line or waiting for the answer to fall into my lap. I'm the one not going anywhere. Which might explain why I'm at Cate's house in the first place. I light another Belmont, five remaining now, watching outside as the rain turns into dampened snow. Adore loops on the stereo.
Women take forever.
I met Cate at a party in college. Where else but college, that magical sort of place where young people go to conduct important social experiments, acquire degrees and diplomas. They set out upon the world expecting to get it all back. It was a Halloween party at her roommate's boyfriend's house, at this dilapidated structure perched like a carrion bird on the outskirts of town, water damaged and forgotten and beautiful. I didn't own much in the way of costumes; I never invested much in that sort of thing after quitting the guild three years ago. You'd think for a theatre group there'd be less bullshit theatrics and more, well, art. Wasn't a total loss. I won this sweet mask at my last year of Improv Olympics so I wore it to the party. To complement it's myriad shades of blue I wore a matching pinstripe suit and showed up. Cate came as the 'Fett.
I know, right?
There wasn't a single person who didn't want her at that party. Even though we had known one another previously, and for quite some time before that Halloween, there wasn't a single trace of recognition in her eyes when she wrapped her arms around my neck in greeting and said "Mm, usted debe ser el Relámpago Azul!" her breath heavy with Cuervo and beer. We were together the entire night, firing shot after shot at our livers, hoisting one another over top of the keg. She confided in me that she'd had this friend who she couldn't see anymore. There'd been some kind of incident in the past, or something. I was far too interested in her costume. "Don't be disappointed, eh? I'm not sure about him, anymore." she said.
That night it became more and more apparent that she had no idea who I was. I sought to keep that way. My mask, it was form-fitting, skin-tight; it laced-up in back so it could not be removed with ease. It left slits in the stretchy fabric for my eyes and mouth; just enough to stay hidden. At one point I wore her helmet over my mask not just because I dug her costume but because I just wanted to stare at her. Her aquiline brows, her perfectly formed features, those dusky eyes and raised cheekbones. A tangle of silky hair, matted with sweat from the mask and with a wayward few standing sideways on her head. Her peacock-feathers.. A flood of light fills the street and I'm remembered what I came here for.
I step out of the car, popping my umbrella. Casually I button my blazer while Cate walks down the steps. I open her door.
"Ahh, such a gentleman!" she muses. "And you look quite handsome," her hand gracing my cheekbone.
A dip of the head is my only response, and a smile. I cannot feel her hand beneath the luchador mask.