Tuesday, February 7

Out of Nowhere

HER EYES! her eyes! Even as the memories of that night recoil from me, still I remember her eyes. I doubt I shall forget them. I suspect that I shall remember them forever. As if she were only a pair of eyes and nothing else! Now there is only a desperate desire to see her again; to repaint her upon my thoughts in stronger brighter colours.
My first night out in a couple of months. I was only stood against the column next to the dancefloor watching the people dance and enjoying it myself. I like to watch such things—I find them interesting. Bouncers chasing people who held drinks off of the floor; red green yellow pink blue flashing; promo-girls in leotards being danced over by hopeful young bankers with slicked-up hair; laughter and joking; drunks circling the scene hoping to make off with a coat or a handbag; shots tossed here and there. It was Friday night. Friday night and I watched everything and leaned against the column. It was Friday night and now it was the weekend because I had worked so hard.
That’s when she appeared from nowhere.
Nowhere is a pretty surprising place to appear from.
But, there she was.
“Dance with me.”
I objected. There was no mood in me to dance. It was Friday night and I was happy enough to just watch the people dancing. She insisted and she was lovely. I removed my coat and she led me by my hand on to the dancefloor. I thought: to ask a stranger to dance! and I had only been minding my own business. How foolish and silly I felt, being forced to dance. Us-
ually I would have fled, packed my things and run away; go for a cigarette, or the toilet and I could watch the attendant dish out cologne or squeeze out soap.
She interested me, though.
I could not run away. Not for the coffee in Costa Rica.
So I stayed and I danced—I tried to dance—with my friend watching me and this stranger who had appeared from nowhere. Then I was interested in her dancing and, of course, I was in the middle of the dancefloor so I was where I had seen, where I had watched, so now I was upon it and doing it.
My fingers sweated over hers.
We talked and she told me about herself and I about myself—that awful shouting into each other’s eardrums and still barely hearing anything. She was a woman, not a girl. She lived where my cousins grew up.
Then, as we toyed with each other, I was plucked by her eyes.
They were enormous things, unreckonable things, colourful, tumescent things, they could have fucked with the tides if they wanted to. They blurred when we moved closer together.
She kissed me. It was good to kiss another body coming at me out of nowhere. She tasted good.
And then her eyes again—Her eyes! her eyes! I could have spent all day with her eyes drifting in and out of focus. With eleven numbers, she apologized and left—that way, into the crowd. So I stood there and I licked my lips.
Now she is very timid in my memory but her eyes flash quite brightly and intimately. There is no doubt in my mind that I must see her again.

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