I had a workshop on smell planned for this week. Unfortunately, everyone who signed up canceled at the last minute. Those are just the risks involved when you’re the organizer.
At least I got to write something while I waited for people to show up. So, no workshop this week, but here are the results of me with time to think.
We danced all evening. Or at least he did while he dragged me around the dance floor by both arms. Not that I didn’t want to dance with him, but all my friends were watching and it made me self conscious. None of us had ever seen Sy this drunk before. He was usually well put together. Not shy, exactly, just the type that hated small talk. He only spoke when he had something with depth to say. But he went too far sometimes. He could spout on about philosophy and ethics in the middle of an all out rager. Just him sitting in the quietest corner with some sucker who got stuck listening to him. Nowadays that sucker was me.
He had earned the title among my friends of Pretentious Tight Ass, but they could only hear the noise the words made. I heard something else. I heard the vulnerable treble punctuating his sentences when he paused for a breath. His give away. He was just as self conscious as the rest of us, except better at hiding it.
I never did find out why he drank so much that night. All I know is he was drunk enough to take me out to the balcony and kiss me so hard our teeth clacked. I breathed him in and it went straight to my knees. His scent was a mix of tobacco and Armani cologne, as soft as the designer cardigans he wore. In contrast, his trimmed beard grated against my tender lips with a pleasant harshness.
I like contrasts. I may even love contrasts. But it was much too soon to tell.