She, 1

            She loved dancing. It was like life, creativity, art and courage coursing out your body in tangible movement, she thought. It made her believe. In nothing, in everything, in herself – it set her free.

            She moved her hips in a slow, winding motion, hypnotically swaying her forearms and bending her knees. She was slightly aware that most eyes on the floor were on her slithering body. More than the attention, the heat drove her. Her body felt like it was combusting and beads of sweat boiled out of her brown skin.

            The shiny beads looked like caramel on her skin and she swiftly swiped her fingers at her forehead and pushed back her curls. In the soft light, with her face upturned, her eyes a mere glimmer, her arms pulled over her head and her hip pushed out in the opposite direction as the rest of her, she could be anything in the world.

            She was heartbroken. As the sweat poured, she felt her heart palpitating and was especially aware of an acute pain with each beat. It ran down her ribcage, gripped her stomach and ran right back up to the beating culprit. Each time, it felt as if her heart would burst.

            Abruptly, she dropped her hands and walked to the bar. As she sipped, she breathed, swallowed, breathed, breathed, breathed. She closed her eyes momentarily and blinked hard.

            She thought about him. She almost couldn’t remember what he looked like. She looked at the clock on her phone – it had been four hours ago; she had last seen him four hours ago. She couldn’t remember what his eyes looked like.

            “What you drinking?” someone nearby asked.

            She looked at the speaker and replied, “Water.” She shook her cup at him.

            “Nice. You look fancy.” He eyed her dress and looked into her eyes questioningly.

            “I was at a wedding,” she said.

            “Not your own, I hope? I don’t see a groom.”

            “My boyfriend’s best friend,”

            “Where’s your boyfriend?”

            “What?” she feigned, pretending not to hear. She needed a second to think. What the fuck does he look like?!

            “Where’s your boyfriend?” he repeated, leaning in closer to her.

            “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “Maybe at his apartment.”

            “You came here with friends?” he asked, all the while his eyes looking into hers.

            She looked down at her cup of water and realised her heart had stopped beating erratically. She breathed in painlessly. “I’m here alone,” she shrugged.

            “You had a fight with your boy?”

            She laughed and fluffed her hair, which is what she did when she was nervous and still trying to be sexy. She called it the Sexy Nervous. “In a manner of speaking… I suppose we came to an understanding.” She sipped from her cup.

            He nodded although he didn’t look like he understood one bit. He smiled and picked up his drink.

            “Leaving?” she asked.

            He leaned in to her and said in her ear, “Cigarette.”

            “May I have one?”

            He smiled again and nodded.

            They exited the bar and he presented her his cigarette box. “Those are my cigarettes,” she said, taking one and lighting it.

            “No, they’re my cigarettes,” he said squarely.

            She blew out a huge cloud and laughed. “Okay.”

            They both spoke in unison:

            “Did you have fun at the wedding?”

            “What’s your t-shirt mean?”

            He looked down at his t-shirt as if he didn’t know he was wearing one. “'Thug life' in French,” he said shortly.

            She raised an eyebrow and smirked at him “'Thug life'? Really?”

            “It’s a conversation piece,” he offered.

            She took a long drag then smiled into his eyes.

            They were brown. Just brown – nothing distinct, no gleam or sparkle, no life zinging behind the pupils, not a fleck of brightness or imperfection that could be spun into some kind of odd beauty.

            His dark eyes searched hers and she couldn’t help the smile gushing onto her lips.

            “Wanna see something?”

            “Depends,” she mumbled, eyeing him searchingly. Up until now they hadn’t touched. He slowly leaned against the wall they were standing on and his shoulder grazed her arm.

            “Well, I gave you a cigarette so you owe me,” he compromised.

            She looked at him, gauging his words. Were they sexual? Of course they were – he was a man, she was a woman; the parts fit. But more than sexual, they lulled.

            “Okay, what is it?”

            “You’ll have to wait and see,” he responded, throwing his cigarette butt into the street and motioning for her to follow him.

            She looked at his retreating back for a few seconds until he turned to look at her quizzically. She took one last drag, threw the rest of her cigarette to the sidewalk and walked toward him.

            “I don’t like surprises,” she stated when she was next to him.

            “Didn’t say it was a surprise.” He smiled at her mischievously as they began to walk.

            “Then what is it?” she asked again.

            “You’ll see.”

            “Why can’t you tell me?”

            He examined her and put his hands into his jeans pockets. “Why must you know?”

            “Because,” she replied simply.

            “You don’t like giving up control,” he stated.

            “Is that a bad thing?”

            “Is it such a good thing?”

            She stopped walking and turned to face him. He did the same and stared at her waiting for an answer.

            She looked around the busy avenue and then back at him. She blinked, trying to remember. Remember his eyes, she scolded herself. They’re…

            Green? Blue?

            “Brown…” she murmured.

            “What’s brown?” he said and she came out of her thoughts.

            “Your eyes.”

            “So are yours.” He held out his hand and she only hesitated for a moment before putting hers inside his.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling her into the night.