Curiosity

“I’m on my way out; I think I see you; oh you should’ve told me you were calling a cab”

 

It’s never easy putting a face to the voice you hear on the phone he thought; funnily it was never quite the same either. You spend months speaking to someone over the phone and then in that minute you see them in person it just goes away, every ounce of rapport you built just vanishes into the thin cold air that suddenly thickens with the unchartered mystery presenting itself.

 

“No pain, no gain” he muttered to himself as he opened the door for her to step in. His first thought was how she carried herself, followed almost immediately with the thought that this one might not pull herself into his waiting arms, or bed for that matter. His disillusioned perspective towards romance came from the lack of it. Romance unaccompanied by sex leaves much wanting while sex unaccompanied by romance serves the purpose nevertheless, it’s funny how the rituals of courting are little save euphemisms.

 

“I haven’t seen you in a while, have I?” if only he kept count of the amount of times he had said the same words to a girl in the backseat of a rented cab. Conversation is overrated he thought, women swear by the charm and magic of a good conversationalist and how monotonous conversational clichés are the least attractive of traits in a man. The funny thing is that a good conversationalist is in fact one who has said the same few well versed words more times than he remembers and sputters it out with little thought, an awkward guy on the other hand weighs down and over analyzes every word he says, while a “good conversationalist” just spits out the words in a pattern that he knows will get him where he wants to go, the sheer irony of it all. It’s almost like evolution he thought, and a slight bit of operant conditioning thrown in; you recite everything your mind can grasp and once the encounter is done with, you carefully weed out the weak lines and polish the tips of the ones that got you anywhere past her dress.  

 

Giacomo Casanova once said “when love is in the way, men and women as a rule dupes each other” how true, how vile our intentions are that we bathe them in the mirth of good wine and dress them in the silks of conversation. She had the most beautiful eyes imaginable as cliché as the compliment may be, there is something about human eyes that makes us… well more human.

Gorgeous brown ripples that were very inquisitively eyeing him even as she parried courtesies and deflected niceties; clearly she wasn’t new to the game.

 

 “How was tea?”

“It was good, I hadn’t seen my friends in a long time, how are you?”

“Not too bad, I love your accent”

“What accent?”

“Come on you totally have an accent”

“Well I always had this actually”

 

Blah blah blah he thought; this really could take a while; she wasn’t unapproachable, far from it on the contrary. There was an air of friendliness about her, an almost radiating aura of warmth, what worried him was her posture, crossed legs and hands, nothing about her was an invitation, the conversation was homage to courtesy and little else.

 

His eyes roved even while he fought off questions about his wellbeing, his work, the party they were going for; she had short hair, disastrously chopped off to a poignant length a powerful expression of individuality no doubt. She had beautiful hands and legs, almost glowing in the pale light streaming through the shutters and those eyes were intoxicating. He knew better than to let his emotions get the better of him but she really was beautiful and he wished he could just throw it out there, look her straight in the eye and ask her to come to bed with him but they both knew that was no way to treat a lady, and a lady she was.  

 

They had arrived at their destination; the cab was paid for and sent on its way, the walk on the beach was a slow one. It’s amusing how people portray their states of mind in their very demeanor, every thought that crossed her mind showed on her face; the fear, the anxiety, the indignation, the discomfort but most of all, the one thing he wanted to see; curiosity.

 

“They’re like deer in the water” he thought to himself, peering at the glassy surface almost as if waiting for the waves to break and drag them away. If something were to be credited for the brunt of fortunes and misfortunes in history it would be curiosity, curiosity is the overwhelming high you feel at the ledge before the 50 foot drop, the blade pressed against your skin before it draws blood and the wave that lingers around your ankles before dragging you away.

 

He walked with his hands closely guiding her, tightening his grip on her waist as they walked side by side towards the roaring sea. It would appear from the beach that he had his arms around her and was leading her slowly, into the pitch black of the ocean.

 

“Curiosity killed the cat darling, will it kill you too?”