The First Time We Met
A short story
I remember the first time we met.
I remember because you asked me so many questions and I was not sure how to react to a stranger being so curious about me. It wasn’t in an intrusive way, but in a way that showed you wanted to know, a way that showed you loved knowing.
I remember because you were smoking a joint and you asked me if I wanted to take a puff. I said no, but you didn’t ask further questions like, “Why?” “Don’t you smoke?” You simply said nothing, and took another puff.
I remember because you stared at me like you were rediscovering life through my eyes and learning all about the world anew. You never lost your gaze on me. It wasn’t intimidating or weird, it just felt like you wanted it to be known to me that I wasn’t alone, that you were there, that you were fully focused on me, that you could see me.
I’m not sure it was love at first sight, but I was fascinated, and fascination is a close second to love. It wasn’t the limerence of having a crush, it was something more, something tangible.
I didn’t want to imagine what knowing you would feel like, I didn’t want to make up stories and build a character in my head. I wanted to experience you for myself. I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to know what type of music you listened to, if you thought Frank Ocean was overrated or not, and then question your taste if you thought he was. I wanted to know what paintings you had in your home, what colors you hated, what films you loved. I wanted to know if you thought City of God was a brilliant film. I also hoped you hadn’t seen it yet because I wanted to be your first introduction to it. I wanted to know what your thoughts were about astrology, if you believed in it, what your star sign was, while hoping and praying to God you weren’t a scorpio because I am, and two divas in a relationship is a recipe for madness.
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There I was outside this building with a rave going on inside, staring and looking into the eyes of a stranger who wouldn’t stop staring and looking into my own eyes. I was giggling as you talked about things I could not hear because it was too loud, and it felt like I was in a scene from The Worst Person In The World. I remember nothing else existed in that moment, nothing else could matter.
“Christian,” you finally said, speaking into my ears. “But you can call me Chris. My friends call me Chris.”
“Oh, so I’m your friend now?”
“Yeah I mean, you’ve been pretending to listen to me for some time now.”
“That’s not true. I’ve been hearing you alright.” I was being sarcastic.
You laughed. I could not hear what your laughter sounded like and I painfully cursed whoever the DJ playing inside was.
“So what’s your name?” You asked.
“Eyimofe.”
“I love the sound of that. Do your friends call you Mofe? You know, like the Mavo song?”
I giggled. It was a lame joke, but I giggled still.
“No. Everyone calls me Eyimofe, or at least I make sure they do. It commands the full use of the tongue.”
“What does it mean?” you asked, still staring at me.
“It means This is what I desire. It’s like saying this is what I want or I long for this. Like of all the things in the world, this is what I want.”
“That’s profound.”
“Yea, my parents did their big one.”
You were quiet for a second.
“So if I fall in love with you, or should I say when I fall in love with you and want to be with you, all I need to say is Eyimofe?” You smiled, taking a puff.
I would have found your question ridiculous if it wasn’t so brilliant, if the words were not coming from those pretty lips of yours, those lips I wanted so badly to taste the weed off of. So I smiled.
“When? You sound pretty sure.”
“Yes. When.”
“You want to fall in love with me?”
“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”
“What if I don’t want to fall in love with you?”
“You don’t want to fall in love with me?”
It felt like a dance.
“I don’t even know you.”
“We can work on that. You know my name is Chris. See? We’re getting there,” you said, while blowing a smoke.
You were funny. It made me come to the conclusion that I wanted to kiss you.
You lighted your joint again.
“You have pretty lips,” I said, looking at your lips, making it so obvious. I was pretty much getting a secondhand high, otherwise, why would I make my intention to kiss you so obvious?
“But you don’t want to fall in love with me?”
I guess we were still on this. “What does that have to do with your lips?”
“They’re a part of me, aren’t they?”
“I mean, they’re on the surface. Not you you.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Pretty sure you kiss people without falling in love with them,” I said.
Gosh, what was I doing?
“Well, this time is different. I’ve turned a new leaf.”
We both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. You know, that ridiculousness between two people who are obviously attracted to each other, but dance around the fact because they know what they want to happen would happen anyway?
I couldn’t really hear the music anymore. I could only hear you clearly now. We were either speaking too loudly or whatever energy there was between us was drowning out the noise.
“So are you here alone?” You asked.
“Actually, no. I came here with my friends, who happen to be a couple, and I’m pretty sure they’ve forgotten I exist.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure they have,” you said. “If you leave right now, they wouldn’t even notice.”
“For real. I’d get a text in the morning saying, Where did you go? We were looking for you all night.”
I can hear your laughter now too. Clearly. And if I were to describe it, I’d say it sounded like I wanted to hear it forever.
“Mind you, they weren’t looking for you.”
“They were not,” I affirmed.
Talking to you was easy.
“What about you? Here with friends?”
“Sure. You’re my friend.”
I giggled. “Are you always like this?”
“Charming and funny?”
“No. Annoying.”
“Oh, I’m annoying now? My plan must be working.”
“Your plan to make me fall in love with you?”
“Exactly,” you responded. “Or for you to allow me fall in love with you.”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
“I’m aware.”
At that point, I realized you were done smoking your joint. It was even more obvious because your hands were no longer performing an act. They were just bare. It felt like you didn’t know what to do with them.
Your right hand akimbo, you told me, “I want to keep talking.”
“I want that too.”
“So I’m packed out there,” you said, pointing to the left. “Bad decision, by the way. Not sure why I drove here,” you continued. “Anyway, I’m packed out there, and I need a smoke, so I need to go to my car because my joint’s in there. Would you like to come with?”
All that explanation to get me to go with you.
“Would you kiss me?”
You smiled. Not sure if you were taken aback or impressed.
“Yes, I will kiss you,” you assured. “What else do you want?”
“Anything?” I asked.
“Yes. Anything.”
“A scalp rub.”
“A scalp rub?” You chuckled.
“Yes. A scalp rub.”
“Well, not sure I can give you that in my car. You know the logistics of giving a scalp rub? Not exactly sure it’s feasible in a vehicle.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Except you want to go to my place?”
To your place? I wasn’t sure how we got to this part (I’m lying), but I loved it. I also wanted it because why else would I have asked for a scalp rub? Who asks for a scalp rub from someone they only just met?
“Depends on the type of music you play at your place.”
“Zaylevelten?”
My surprise was a little glaring on my face.
“I’m kidding,” you giggled. “He’s a vibe though. I’ll play whatever you want.”
“But I want to know your kind of music.”
“Well, you’ll have to come home with me to find out.”
“But I don’t even know you.”
“Well, you know my name is Chris, that’s one thing. You know you’re about to find out I give good scalp rubs, that’s another thing. And I think I’m a pretty good kisser, if you ask me or my third girlfriend.”
“Why the third?”
“It was when I started getting good at it.”
I laughed.
Your left hand was stretched out now, gesturing for me to take it, so I took it. You led me to where your car was, and you were right. You should not have driven there. The lot was packed.
You started your car, and then the speakers burst with the words, Poolside convo about your summer last night…
You did not think Frank Ocean was overrated. Great.
“What’s your star sign?” I asked, with a soft prayer in my heart.
“Aries,” you said, staring at me. You were amused. It sounded like you didn’t absolutely believe in astrology, but you were curious about it either way. The suddenness of my question seemed to thrill you.
“We can work with that.”
“What about you?”
“I’m a scorpio.”
“October or November?”
“October.”
“Oh, thank God.”
We both laughed, then you started reversing the car.
