On Seeing You That First Time

1

I had come to escape the oppressive weight of solitude, hoping to be bombarded by noise louder and less offensive than that of my loneliness. I could not endure another night of being yelled at by the dark corners of my room, refused to be bothered by the incessant screaming of the emptiness, so I ventured out. The invitation announced a 7pm start time. I arrived at 8, well enough into the party to ensure a decent assemblage of potential gabbers. Though I knew I would be among acquaintances and coworkers, I wanted to be doubly sure I would not end up being a wallflower.

The night was progressing swimmingly. Long Island Iced Tea in hand, I had made my way around the room, conversing casually about work or politics, or work politics, or whatever rubbish topic arose. The host’s taste in music was very eclectic, so one conversation was accompanied by Coltrane blowing “My Favorite Things,” while another was accompanied by what sounded like ‘80s punk. The volume could have been tuned to a higher decibel, but the room was loud enough, I guess, With the undulating sounds of music and speech competing in air.

I didn’t once think of my loneliness.

I was at ease,

relaxed,

cool as a cucumber.

2

I was already imbibing on my third highball

and munching on loaded nachos when I saw you.

Bryan had been carrying on about the importance of chewing to jaw and teeth strength

and I was looking for my out.

I was seated at a table but fortunately had a wide view of the front room and an unobstructed view of its door.

You may think it hokey when I tell you that I thought you were a vision,

for you know that I try to avoid clichés.

It is true, however.

The sight of you disturbed the very atmosphere and purloined my breaths.

I’m almost certain I went flush.

I could feel the heat pulsating in my face,

the excitation of blood bubbling at capillary ends.

You arrived as part of a gaggle,

the lot of you jockeying for the host’s attention,

trading handshakes and pecks on the cheeks, removing coats.

Just then you leaned and whispered into the ear of one of your compadres as you scanned the room.

Our eyes met

and in that moment all else ceased.

The room,

its floors and doors,

its walls and halls,

and the people there,

fell as if through a chasm,

And there was only you and I suspended in a vast darkness.

We were Vega and Altair,

a romance written in the stars.

3

In that deep blackness in which the world, this galaxy, the universe,

seemed superfluous to our existence, you were radiant.

You made the darkness flee.

I was but a mere ember in the presence of a newly formed star.

I was captivated then,

And remain so even now,

By the things I learned about you that night,

how persistent and tenacious,

how frank and daring you are.

You are confident, sure, immovable.

Not in a pompous, puffed-up sort of way; you are comfortable in your own skin.

But the hint of kindness showed in your smile

And I felt it in your touch.

Your form was divine,

majestic like snow-capped mountains beneath the Northern Lights.

I still burn today when I kiss your lips,

or, approaching you from behind, grab the meat of your hips.

4

And it all began because years ago I took a chance and ventured out.

I left the confines of my desolate rooms

And saw you across the crowded room of a friend.

My own perspicacity could not have foreseen

how confrontation with the world on its terms would lead to

our blossoming love.

I turned my inward-looking eye outwards,

and, in freeing myself from the prison of my introversion, I found you.

We found each other

and vowed to cleave to one another,

the one never to leave the other, to be split asunder,

but to be always and ever the celestial lovers,

fixed in the heavens.