Two-In-One

You're the kind of person that makes me want to write. You make me want to document all of our experiences, like notes, or maybe more like a Polaroid snap shot, so that I can hold onto the memories with everything I have. With you and me, the memories are gems that I just can't let slip through the cracks in my fingers. That's why I need these snap shots, these extra hands to catch any falling memories; they feel too precious to handle carelessly. I am paranoid I won't remember the most miniscule things, like, when we stood on the bridge today and you had your forehead pressed against mine, the way the sunlight played off of your hair. I probably sound disgustingly romantic, but it's all really very pragmatic. It's just a record.

 

Today, I had a two-in-one memory. I say that because I took an old memory, or more of a fantasy, and satisfied it. We were crossing that bridge that we know all too well and you reminded me of how, when I was wasted, I said I wanted to slide down the sharp incline of concrete at the end of the man-made lake. You positioned us exactly as we were, leaning on the iron rail about two feet apart. I can't believe I kept such an impressive distance that night. I can believe that, reenacting it today, I was smacked by a good dose of déjà vu; I remembered how my body ached terribly to be pressed against your skin. I was shivering violently, and I should have been cold in the 25 degree chill, but I was too drunk to feel temperature. My shaking nerves were instead the result of the thousands of hormones, enough to put a high school boy to shame, waiting in my stomach to be set off by a touch that wouldn't come.

 

That night I couldn't kiss you. This time, I could.

 

I grazed your soft cheek with my fingertips while stroking those bristling short hairs at the nape of your neck. I was trying to turn you on. I always try to turn you on. I like to feel those stimulating little puffs of breath that escape against my lower lip when I touch you the right way. Your hand dropped to my side and settled against the curve right before my hip. I told you it didn't feel cold for once. That made you smile, and then you stepped forward and pressed my back against the iron rail, holding me in place between your body and a 20 foot drop. I could feel myself sliding down that incline. There was adrenaline surging through my veins and a scream in my heart and a drop in my stomach to the river trickling below us.

 

This was a replay of what could have happened, of what did happen in my dreams that night, except, now, we were in the right place at the right time. Had we kissed that night, we would have ruined the future us that we have developed. I'm glad my will was so unusually strong. Now I know, so was yours.

 

The cloud speckled 70 degree sunlight transformed into star studded 25 degree night. We were talking again, the first time alone together, carefully keeping our distance an arm’s length away. There was a throb in our limbs whispering, “Go, touch,” and we were doing everything in our power to silence it. And now, I could say, what is this caution for? This time, I could throw caution to the wind and embrace you. No strings, no regrets-- although we never have to regret-- and all sweet sensuality pouring from the unity of our lips. We could now gratify those long mounting hormones and cravings with the simple gift of touch.

 

That’s how it should be and that’s how it was and, now, that’s how it is.

 

I want to lock this memory in place like a Polaroid snapshot in an indestructible filing cabinet. That’s why I’m writing this. I need to remember how it was sunlight on your left cheek and moonlight on your right cheek when I was kissing you, reflecting onto the rushing and frozen still water cascading down the incline. It wasn’t only water running down that diagonal concrete slide; it was also our inhibitions, namely our caution. We fell along with it. It was worth falling into.