I wake up disoriented in a
dark room that I don't recognize. I try to assess the surroundings as
my eyes adjust to the blackness. I hear quiet breathing coming from a
girl lying on the bed next to me. Her blond hair, a stark contrast to
the gloom, accentuates her features. God, she's pretty. I wish I
could remember her name. I know she told me, but I couldn't hear half
of our conversation over the raucous music in the club. I realize
that I don't know any of the information that should be established
long before you become intimate with another person. Suddenly, all
that required knowledge is reduced to nothing more than mere
afterthoughts.
I find my mind wondering
about her. What's she really like? Is she smart, funny, honest? Does
she do this kind of thing all the time? I know that this is my first
one night stand, but is it a part of her routine? What's she going to
think about all this in the morning? Will she feel cheap and used, or
rush me out without even giving me the courtesy of an awkward kiss
goodbye? I want to hold her, but I'm not even sure about the rules on
that. Christ, when did everything get so complicated?
I glance over to the
nightstand that's on my side of the bed and look at the plaque that's
resting on the top. It's made out of clay, with two little handprints
under the word "Mommy". This girl is somebody's mother. I
feel even worse about this whole thing.
I sit up, throw on my
jeans and walk out onto her patio hoping that the crisp September air
will help to clear my head. It doesn't. The skyline shines brightly
like a beacon over all its denizens that are sleeping next to loved
ones, strangers, or alone altogether. In my head I try to justify the
events that lead me to the now, which only makes me feel worse about
it all. Trying to blame it on the alcohol would just cheapen it even
more, rob it of the passion that would make it seem somehow more
acceptable. I don't know...
Is this what we've all
been reduced to? Seeking solace in the arms of strangers just so we
can throw them aside in the morning because we're all afraid to get
attached? I don't understand how the people that do this every
weekend live with themselves. I look back and watch her sleep through
the window. I haven't got a clue what the morning will bring to us.
Will we see each other again? Will this turn into something
meaningful, or will we just try to force it so that we can feel
better about it all and save face? I open the sliding glass door and
enter the room, knowing that all these questions will be answered in
time.
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