You light a cigarette. The perfect way. Sitting down. Bend over slightly, with such intent.
I hate cigarettes. I can see my disgust for them in the thick smoke plumes that creep and slide out of the sides of your mouth, usually so defiant. But tonight they curl and fade almost immediately. It hurts deep down in my chest, how much I love you without knowing you. A painful, aching, unfulfilled beat. Slowly, constantly, vibrating inside my gut.
I shake my head and look away, mumbling to myself and half laughing. Your very existence is like a cruel joke. The final nail in the coffin. Yes the world is unfair. I get it. Seriously. You didn’t have to create my perfect human being and then just dangle them in front of my face to really drive home the point.
The fire is starting to die down. The flames lick less and less at the cold night air. The embers fight and cling to their heat, warming my hands and feet. Most of the crew have gone to bed by now, cozy and covered in tents that dot the landscape around our camp. He’s going to go to bed soon. I just know it. It’s becoming one of those “now or never” moments you see in Disney movies. What should I ask him? Maybe something about his boots? His cameras? Ugh gross. All of that seems so lame and typical. I hate typical almost as much as cigarettes.
Fuck it. Whiskey.
I pull out the bottle of Bulliet I have in my bag. It’s well worth the extra weight. So are my enamel cups.
This. This moment right here. Is the single most terrified I have ever been. My feet are asleep. My hands are clammy even though its 20 degrees out. I think my shitty mascara is smeared under my right eye.
“Hi. Are you thirsty?”
He looks up from his notebook and stares at me. It’s like he’s never seen another person before. I immediately feel stupid and look at my feet as the embarrassing heat collects in my cheeks.
“Yeah, actually. Thanks. Let me put this down and come by the fire.”
............. to be continued