The Ball

A simple night's event takes an interesting and surprising turn for an unexpectant attendee only to realize that evrything he perceives may not be as it seems... perhaps.

300 of strong, sturdy and elegant individuals strut in a filled hall of glittering lights. Adorned in the finest wears they could concoct, doted upon them with utmost care. A room saturated by exquisite scents of the evening, replete with beautiful faces and handsome demeanors in abundance. Floating in the air are whispers of curious babbles and loud light-hearted guffaws. The room lives with music - rhythmic Latin flavors, eclectic dance tunes, rowdy bass sounds - each melody to suit a different mood, each sound to move the willing soul. Indeed, it is a night to relish.

Ladies and gentlemen; beautiful ladies and handsome gentlemen, having it out on the dance floor, like warriors on a battlefield. No victor; no vanquished. In the midst of the seeming battle of the sexes, he stands, in the still of the night, in his unusual brilliance, clothed in the darkest shade of black a man could ever muster to wear. He is apprehensive of what he wears, caring less for who would notice, and yet, proud of his choice.

He is shy in his forethought, impulsive on the spur of the moment, but regretful in his supposition. Complexity personified. His tuxedo does uncannily well to portray this.

He takes a deep breath to relieve himself in this stuffiness that is the hall. He sighs, waves around a few grins, mulled around his own head on what to do �" dance, talk… nothing. It overwhelms him. But he’s used to it; the general need to make acquaintances and forget them the next minute.

Too many beauties in one place, it feels like the world is scarce of them. God-given beauty has never been proved so right, but it terrifies him. He has to mask his terror. It is the only way… it has been the only way. He swears, like he has so many times before at various other similar engagements, he will only do one thing, enjoy himself; have fun. It is not going to be any different.

His forethoughts precede him a little too soon.

Like a dream from yesteryears, he spots her from a dastardly distance. Of all the muses wading across the hall in their fineries, it has to be her; this epitome of seeming perfection, this angelic artifice, to catch his eye. She glances back.

Asphyxiation! He struggles for breath. This isn’t happening.

She moves towards him with utmost grace. He flinches for he thinks the worst. Is she coming his way? This goddess that can rival even Venus… who is Venus?

He looks behind, but sees no one paying her such rapt attention. He looks back at her. She’s still coming, barely wrestling the crowd on the way. He could look away, but he keeps on staring, magnetic force too strong to resist.

He takes a giant gulp as he rummages deep into his trouser pockets for an inhaler. He needs a fix, fast, or he will pass out. He is so captivated by the creature, red dress bathing the floor she walks on, eyes meeting his, piercing through a barrier held up by him for as long as he can remember. She is close.

It is a mere seconds before she reaches him; they feel like hours. Run, he tells himself, run for your dear life. His forethoughts are simple: Too beautiful to comprehend, hence dangerous, therefore way out of your league. Get out of there now!

Too late

As still as a statue, she stands face to face with him, mutual in heights, not too far apart in age. He remains speechless, unresponsive. All that speaks are the lyrics of a now atrocious beat in the background. He is certain a concussion is in the making because of it.

“I feel I’m about to explode right now!” she says, clear, not wailing as he would imagine. It takes him a second to realize the atrocious beat comes from his head, gone the very moment she utters her first words to him…. sweet melody to the ears.

“I’m … sorry?” he mutters, barely.

“I feel I’m about to spontaneously combust because of the way you’re ogling me.” The symphony of her voice rings truth beyond any he has ever heard before.

Now, for the supposition.

“What… I’m so… forgive me!”

He closes his eyes immediately. It’s like he wakes up from a bad dream accompanied with a bad headache.

“How would you feel if someone stared at you continually for no apparent reason?”

“I’m so sorry, really. Believe me when I say I didn’t mean to. It just… happened?”

He means it.

She looks at him incredulously with a cocked eyebrow. It makes her look uniquely cute but he dares not point that out.

He finally succeeds in pulling out his inhaler. He means to place it in his mouth but is impeded when she grasps his hand.

“Put that away.” she says. Without taking his gaze from her, he sees a smile. The night didn’t feel dark anymore. Is he forgiven already?

“I just need to…”

“How about a cool glass of red wine, instead?” She offers him her glass, a glass he never realizes has been in her hand in the first place. “It will help.” she assures.

He is perplexed by such a gesture, more so when he notices her pristine mark of rouge lipstick on the glass. He isn’t sure what to make of it. She giggles.

“You drink from that spot, and it’s a free kiss from me.”

His eyes dart out. It almost feels like a Droopy moment, only without the droop.

He does just as she suggests. The pungent taste of the brew is only better by the sweetness of the seemingly peach-flavored lipstick. It is a Droopy moment.

You know what… I’m happy.

He hands the glass back to her, smile still glued on her idyllic visage.

“Feeling better?”

“A little.” he answers, with childish expectation. “Can I have it now?”

“Have what?” she asks puzzled.

“You know… my free kiss.” He is as puzzled.

She laughs out, a sound more delicious than that of the keenest harps.

“You just had it, silly.” she replies.

“What?”

“You drank from the same place I drank. That was your free kiss… Oliver Twist.”

He wants to object. He needs to. He feels like a fool. He should have known not to fall for such a cheap trick. It isn’t fair, it never is. Now, he’s Droopy.

He laughs it off anyway. Terrible.

“Don’t worry. You may still get lucky tonight, handsome. Just try and mitigate your staring tactics, ok?”

“I will.” he says, resigned.

She seemingly moves on, away from him. He’s fearful of letting her go without saying anything, but he doesn’t trouble himself to bother. Just when he thinks it’s over, she grabs him by the left hand, tightly, intensely. The sensation is nothing short of marvelous, and yet, it gives him goose bumps.

“My name’s Anna-Maria, by the way.”

“Michael… pleased to meet you.”

“Listen; let me take you to the corner away from the crowd. It’s stuffed up here anyway. I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better with a breather.”

He does not hesitate to follow.

Now at the corner with his own glass of cool wine, he finds himself engaged in a conversation �" or the lack thereof �" with his beautiful acquaintance.

“Enjoying the party?” he asks.

“So far, so good.”

He nods, still out of words to adorn the splendor standing beside him. She isn’t good looks alone, she permeates wisdom he cannot understand, her glow speaks volumes about her, and yet, he cannot grasp the meaning of her mystique. How can she be so captivating and not seem to work hard for it?

The lights of the hall do her no justice; she outshines their brilliance. She stares into the crowd like she stares into the ether, mind-hopping into every soul she gazes into. Maybe that is why she approached him. She had seen his innermost thoughts, his cravings, his desires, his perversions, his sins, his fears…. his hopes.

“So, what are you all about, Michael?” He half-chokes while sipping his wine. He is taken aback.

“Excuse me?”

“You know… what’s Michael’s story? Is he a hero, detective, sportsman, intellectual scientific luminary… superhero? What does he stand for? Justice, Peace, all the good stuff?”

Does she have high expectations of him? He figures he’s in trouble.

“I have absolutely no idea.” he half-chuckles.

She moves in closer; eye to eye, almost feeling her breath upon his face.

“Is it true you actually conquered the Devil and sent him falling down into the pit… for being drunk?”

Long pause.

A sudden laughter erupts between the two of them.

“I’d like to think I’m that strong, but…”

“Who says you aren’t?” she asks. He shrugs. “I see that you sell yourself short. It doesn’t suit you.” He merely smiles and goes back to being bowled over.

“Many guys think they have to do a lot to impress a girl they’ve just met. You on the other hand, are quite the charmer.”

He ponders as to what she means. He denotes sarcasm but is not taking offence.

“Technically, you’re doing all the impressing for me.” She laughs, symphony to his ears. He tries to figure out where the gutsy remark comes from.

“Well, I’m exceptionally good at turning such things on themselves.”

“Then guys like me are exceptionally lucky to come across one who can pull that off.” They both snigger.

“Actually, Michael, you’re not doing nearly as bad as you think.”

He looks at her in admiration.

“You’re kidding, right? I almost passed out while struggling for my inhaler while you approached me in the… arena over there.”

“And at the end, you made it through without it.”

“Only because you…”

He pauses, interrupts himself in mid-thought. How long has he had such an exchange? He cannot bring himself to remember. Maybe once in a dream, perhaps.

“Do you always have such an effect on every guy you come across?” The question in itself seems rather absurd, not to mention rude.

“It depends.” she responds comfortably like she expects it. “What kind of effect do I have? Do I have a particular effect? I have absolutely no idea. And if I had, it would certainly depend on the guy, wouldn’t it?” he has never felt so flabbergasted by anyone like her.

“I guess. I’m sorry… that question was out of line.”

“Nah! I’m kind of glad you asked. You seemed rather zoned out when I approached you. I figured I made quite an impression.” she giggles.

“Oh did you?” he laughs back.

Musical tempo changes instantly, for the worse, he thinks. Nat King Cole’s unforgettable sound serenades everyone into a trance. He looks on at the couples holding one another on the dance floor. He is certain a headache is coming on and if not, it will be in his best interest to fake it. But she looks at him, almost dreamlike. He looks back in awe. What is on her mind?

“Well…?”

“Well what?”

She sighs.

“Michael, honey, I know you’re smart enough to know when a girl expects a gentleman to ask her for a dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yeh! Or is the great Michael too scared to ask a little young girl for one?”

“Oh, believe me, I would, but I can’t… don’t know how to…”

“Come, I’ll show you.” she says, quickly dragging him down to the center of the dance floor.

It is the most awkward thing he has to endure. For a moment, he seems to have the feeling that a spotlight shines upon them.

She takes his arms and places them wherever they are meant to be placed. He can only blush while she laughs uncontrollably.

“It’s not as hard as it looks, Mike.” She reassures. He swears he hears a hint of affection in her tone.

His head is full. The music fills it; lyrics synthesizing themselves into his cerebellum, waiting to produce an answer to this mystery dancing with him. Mere minutes before, he couldn’t get his eyes away from her. Now that they are close, he wrestles to have his vision elsewhere.

“You do know that you’ll have to look at me sooner than later, right?”

The invitation is subtle, and so appropriate. One cannot say no to that. Their eyes meet. Her dark eyes glaze. The same soul-stirring stare searches for truth. He cannot handle it but they have him stuck in a place. The sheer hypnotic spell they give off is unbearable.

He looks on as her radiant smile breaks away every sadness he has ever had, every worry, every hopelessness, anxiety he ever buried himself under. He feels lifted.

“Where have you been all my life?” are the words that drivel out unconscionably… before he realizes what he asks.

“Really?” she asks with another sonorous laughter.

“I’m so sorry… I don’t know…”

“Not to worry, I’ll answer that.”

“What?” He’s knocked for six.

“Where have I been all your life? Let’s see… was born; good family, great family… elementary school; good times… middle school; fun times, little sad… high school; serious times… college; even more serious times, but a heck-of-a time… work; pay isn’t bad… single ever since.” Those last words are whispered, almost seductively, accompanied by a quizzical look.

Panic attack. Breathing almost stops. He is contemplating going for a fix. She holds him tight, though.

“Michael… calm down. Don’t forget to breathe,” and breathe he does.

His mind is now silent. He can hear the fast-pace beating of his heart in his head slow down.

“That was a rhetorical question.” He says.

“So, by implication, I just provided you with a rhetorical answer.”

The smiles endure. With comfort, she lays her head upon his right shoulder. He does not refuse her. All that terror evaporates. He holds her just as tightly as she holds him. She isn’t going anywhere. They can dance for hours, days, weeks, years, not letting go till the end of time. They dare not utter a syllable for as long as there is music keeping them on their feet. He does not want this moment to dissipate, ever.

The spotlight inevitably shines on them like they are the only ones there. They are the only ones there. All others are irrelevant.

The music comes to a sudden halt. She pulls away. His gaze doesn’t move away from her, the hypnotic trance of her honest beauty.

“There! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“No…” he mutters. “Not at all.”

“You really should take the lead more often, Michael. You can’t expect to conquer when you don’t declare it first.”

“I’ll remember that.” he says, warmth encompassing into every capillary, vein, artery in his body. He feels alive, if just for that moment.

“What now?” she asks.

She is noticeably inches away from him, almost fading into the nether. He cannot understand it.

“Where are you going?” he asks, panicky, uncertain of what to expect.

“Silly…. party’s over. It’s time for us to find our way back home. To your tents, oh Israel?”

“Please, don’t go.” he finds himself saying.

She is almost taken by surprise by it. She gives her quizzical grin.

“I’ve somewhere else to be, my dear Michael.” she responds, almost sounding maternal.

“Will I see you again?” She looks at him, eternal stare of wonder and possibilities, and a warm smile to cushion the blow of what she might say.

“I think you already know the answer to that question.”

The words leave a merciless sting in his heart, almost moving him to tears. He stretches his hand towards the now-fading princess.

“At least tell me that I’ll see you again.” he pleads.

She gives him a final glance, soul-piercing dark shade set of eyes with the hypnotic smile, reassuring, and yet, so distant.

“Mike…” he hears her call. She approaches him for a split second. “You’ll see me here.” To which she places her index on his forehead.

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Eyes wide open, breath almost impeded. Gasping for life while noting the stark brightness of the morning star peering through window blinds almost blinding him.

“NO!” he cried, as his hands flayed around him, cushioned by a blanket on top a bed.

“What?” The question he didn’t want to ask until realizing the truth.

“No!” he cried again.

He threw his head forcibly on his flat pillow. Sleep he beckoned, don’t let her go. That didn’t help. The memory of her dissipated second by second. He squeezed his eyes so tight he was certain to invite a headache.

“No… no… no… no!”

The truth of it moved him to tears; it was mean, cold, wicked, merciless… he hated it. He wringed his blankets with the illusion he was depriving it of life.

Who was she? Nobody. No one he knew, at least; no one he met, no one he would ever meet. Just a dream.

“Never…” he whispered.

Awake in a world of torture, reminding him of how wonderful that experience was, left him dead. He dwelled in each day with the usual routine, a work he didn’t like, a boring life, a lonely life, lived in constant denial. No purpose, no faith… nothing.

Sitting up on his bed, he grabbed his inhaler. Wiping his face of whatever tears left from a stupid exercise in futility, he looked at the object. Remember to breathe. The thought popped up in his head. He paused for a while and lay the object down. He took in some deep breathes in and out before looking at the window, depriving rays of light from invading his bedroom.

Staring at a curious ray, he witnessed a spectrum of possibilities, stunning colors telling him something… anything… everything. He looked across his room where the rays hit a wall. On it hung a calendar. The curious ray had struck a simple date on it. Coincidence? A date slated for a ball organized by a group of friends. Tomorrow.

He didn’t like coincidences. However, it made him smile. His sad life had just lit up for that moment, a ball, possibilities galore, only if created, with all the best intentions at hand, no strings attached. Hardly! He was only going to have fun. Was he certain that would be all? Would he meet a stranger that would lift him off his feet, leave him as speechless as a mime, and make the palpitations of his heart lead to old school heartaches… perhaps? Not likely.

It didn’t stop him from smiling, almost laughing. He was going crazy, and he was fine with that. No… it wouldn’t happen, but one never really knows. Michael certainly didn’t… but he was open to know about possibilities that could happen…

“Someday.”