Wanted....

FADE2BLACK
"13, I want a relationship." his words bounced off the wall to the beat of techno pop muzic, whirring in the buzz from several vodka tonics, while grinning every so slightly at secrets that skipped along the air. Smoke cloaked the brown of his eyes and as it dissipated, I felt the moisture of his sadness along the mahogany counter that held our happiness. Leaning toward me, he asked, almost pleadingly, "Why can't I have a relationship?".
My tongue heavy from the bitterness of cheap vodka, the cynicism of my current plight, and a tad of intuitive sarcasm, replied, "People like us will never be successful in relationships."
Again the plead, "What? Why?"
"Baby, we wear aloofness like cheap perfume and the poor taste of a badly dressed Queen. They look at people like us and assume we are don't want a commitment. We appear too detached. Look at you. Dancing in this corner, laughter around you, beautiful as you are, they will look and believe that you don't have a care in the world. They will look at you with lust, and want you for that moment. Me, it's the thrill of the chase. And you know what happens when you stop running, or they realize that you were never in it for the chase? They don't want you anymore. A fucking game. People want what they can't have."
"Umm. You need another drink. That shit is insightful. Do I really look detached? I mean I smile, I'm cordial. I talk."
"The life of the party. The center of attention," I add.
"That's the hook. They want that. They want a part of that."
"They don't want the insecure you, the one who wonders if you will ever be enough."
"What about you?" He looks thru me, and embraces an untapped emotion.
"Painful. Pained. I know there is no permanency in another, so I just wait, sometimes impatiently, to be abandoned. It starts with a single behavior, then the game begins. They slowly let go. No one ever really breaks up with me, nor I them. We just wake up one day and realize that maybe we should have never got involved."
"I feel you. That always happens to me. All I have to say is, 'Whatz up? I want more than this." And they're like 'what da fck', you know. But you and ____________ have never left me."
"It's because we know the game. It's also because we don't want a relationship with you. Just want to have your babies. Ha. Ha. Ha."
He smiles at the lie, knowing neither of us want children, but understand the loneliness and desire that prompts many to do so. We, often unspoken, believed that we were those children born from that unsaitiable need. "I like the idea of aloofness. And you're right, when I meet someone, they always think I just want to have a good time. Want to fck. I need a husband. But you. You're on your way."
"Am I? What I want is probably much too much for anyone. I want to love unconditionally and get that same love in return. Some days I have a lot to offer and I just want someone to build a home with. No one truly understands that. They get caught up in what they see, what they believe. None of it's me. It takes everything in me to get up on that stage. I'm nervous every frickin time. I'm not that confident, but I'm not a needy mofo either. On the rare occasion I meet someone who thinks they want what I want, they find it's too fucking challenging. They want what I give, but couldn't possibly give what I give in return."
"Yea. And that shyt hurts like a muthafckr. Ain't nothing more lonelier than that. Fuck sometimes I see people, like today, all coupled up with families and shit, and I feel like I'm the only person in the world that doesn't have somebody. I know I got friends, but someone to share my life with. Now that would be the shit. But the way people want me sometimes, it makes me feel all used up."
"I hear you. I always feel like a dumbass. Stupid." We both laugh attempting to shield the other from the certainty of the sentiment. He turns, takes in the remainder of his drink in a final gulp, walks toward the pool table, and places a quarter in the wedged slot atop the table. He'd rather play the game to ease his heart's mind. The insecure gap in his walk gives him away. I'm glued to my chair, sobered by the arrythemic beats echoing inside. I am familiar with the hollowed thumps, and am immediately aware that I will become angry before nightfall. Anger will be much easier than dealing with the emptiness that has overcome me. I swallow back the absurdity of the moment, thirsty for answers (there will be none), I swing from the stool and move toward the main bar. I know that I am moving past my limit, but I don't care. "Two vodka sours, two vodka tonics."
I buy each of us two drinks. One for the moment. The other for the longing silhouettes that sit across from us engaged in muted, personal conversations. They are ever present, and this afternoon they to have thirsts that must be quenched.
"You know 13?"
"No, what?"
"It was a good day wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was a good day."
FADE2BLACK