In My Write Mind

It was the way that halter top embraced her curves. The way her bare shoulders looked in the light. The way her designer jeans had me making designs on getting closer to her.

It was all working that night: the MAC brand lip gloss, the flowing hair, the smile that was so bright and sincere, the bartender had to ask her to close her mouth in order to keep the bar lowly lit.

It was an August night, which meant it was hot. Our eyes met. My heart fluttered. It was a secret meeting, a rendezvous of the highest order. Two souls that probably weren’t meant to be together forever, but for that night … for that ONE night when it’s all working, when the weather and food and conversation are equally hot … spontaneity takes over.

And there’s nothing that you won’t do …

We ran hot and cold. Mostly hot. That’s the type of relationship it was. Stolen moments. Stolen hearts. Nothing long-lasting, yet just long enough. We had an expiration date, even though neither of us knew it at the time. We took advantage of every moment, every kiss, every look, every laugh, every touch … and what lasted only for a little while appeared to be so much longer.

It was the type of relationship where you don’t have any regrets … only memories. Of nights like this. Hot nights in the middle of summer that make you realize that although life is short, being in the company of the right person at the right time makes one night seem like forever.

Like that night. Clearly a midsummer night’s dream. She was there, waiting for me to arrive after a long day at work. We were to meet for drinks, but not just for that. We were to meet for another stolen moment, for some stolen glances, for some mental and physical nourishment.

I got uptown, and after one look at her and that smile, I was definitely “up.” That’s how it was when I saw her. Every time. She had me, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do.

Whatever she needed, I offered. She’d always refuse. Never wanted to be indebted. Never wanted to leave a trail. Which was understandable, but never quenched my thirst for wanting to please her. Of giving her whatever I could to make her smile. That night, that hot night in August, I gave her my time. Gave her a return smile and sat down beside her.

The chemistry was obvious, yet ill-fated. Truly, if we’d known then what we know now, those stolen moments would’ve meant even more. Would’ve contained more smiles, more touches, more moments like that night. When everything was working.

Her lips … drew me to them. A sensuous greeting left MAC written all over my face. The heat from the kiss made that inevitable. A caress of her shoulder, then her arm, then her waist, let her know that she’d been on my mind all day. Ever since I got the call that she was in town. Ever since I knew that I’d be seeing her that night.

Even the bartender had to smile when she saw us so into each other, when she heard the ease of the laughter, the lilt of hte conversation. Her eyes trailed away from us momentarily to take another order, but like a moth to a flame she was back … taking our order, taking in our presence. After we ordered, she kept coming back to check on us … make sure we were OK even though she already knew we were. We drank … as she drank us in.

That night was perfect, but “we” weren’t. Even after many perfect days and nights. Our relationship, our moment, ended soon after that beautiful night in the middle of summer. It was short-lived, and we did a lot of living. Sometimes, you just have to go your separate ways. You wish them the best, after they gave you some of the best times ever.

I live with that decision to let go, to stop holding on to someone that wasn’t mine to begin with. It helped me do a lot of growing up. It was a life lesson, and no, I didn’t pass with flying colors. Sometimes, however, it’s all about the course study.

Every now and again, I reminisce. I have flashbacks. Remember certain things that we shared, remember her dimple or her contagious laugh, her favorite song or saying, recall how easy it was at times … and also how hard. Then I remember that night, the one where she wore the halter top that hugged her curves long before I could, and those lips and that conversation that was hotter than the night itself.

That’s the flashback that makes me smile the most. The figurative perfection that defined our time together. That’s the flashback that has me remembering that there was nothing I wouldn’t do.

And then I recall how things fell apart like a Roots album title. About our expiration date and how letting go was oh so necessary. Those are the types of flashbacks that snap you back to reality, make you appreciate what you had and definitely where you are.

Those are the types that ultimately remind you of what you won’t do … but dammit, that night. Lawd.