Free write 07.06.2015
Some people are one, maybe two steps away from an impending dome. Some are alive but appear dead in what living truly means, and then there is Jaleel. Sitting in the center aisle. His back curled in the opening of the chair, feet folded at the ankles, and eyes dried out from a lack of blinking. The aloof plastered on his face suggests that he didn’t notice her. But in a room where ceiling lights make the night known, where the bass man waltz’s his fingers across the six string, she seems buoyed. Her feet buried in a red dress as she makes her way across the room. By now his languid posture brings itself upward. Every grimace on her face, every faint smile at nothing is absorbed. The way her cheekbones balloon and her lips pull back to open her smile, even the nervous dance of her hands when she talks,- seeming to attempt grabbing at air. His tongue wets his parched lips. He presses his balled fist against them to clear his throat as he comes to his feet. His first steps forward are awkward. A result of slumbered limbs. She is lingering around the snack bar, a single lock of hair swings in the center of her face in motion. Jaleel in nervous anticipation retreats his hands to his pockets. Every step closer to her feels like marathon. His breathing elevated, the promise of the finished line, a supportive crowd cheering. In an attempt to feign bravery, he calls on a nervous smile that gathers on one side of his face. He has made his way into her line of sight. When she spots him her eyes brighten as though she has been caught in some mischief. She then sonars them across the room in effort to lock onto something other than him. But Jaleel is persistence. Rehearses his opening lines before the main act. Hey, nice dress? No, nice smile? Just wanted to say hello? Just wanted to introduce myself? I’m Jaleel? How do I say this? That your smile is the best thing I’ve seen all day no all my life. No, ugh, what!! How do I say I sing in the shower, play tea house with my five year old sister, swear sometimes when I’m really pissed off? Got rejected five times before now. Probably the most average guy in this room. I don’t have the perfect lines to get your attention, just this wicked heart that drummed louder when you walked in. these scrawny legs that forgot their walk when your smile stole all the moonlight. How do I say if you give me five minutes and the promise of laughter, I’ll bring you a better poem, if I ever find the courage to get off this chair?
- rn