… That’s what drew me in, in the beginning.
You’ve been there … The two of you in a room full of people, stealing glances, exchanging smirks, repositioning yourself on a sofa or chair in a tell-tale, perhaps reminiscent way, that only that other person sees.
Maybe a mutual friend crosses the room to introduce one of you to the other.
“This is my dude, so-and-so. So-and-so, Melyssa.”
You smile politely and shake hands with the aloofness of new acquaintances. But he’s no new acquaintance. He knows the color of your sheets.
There’s something so sexy about a secret.
And so it began with me and BD. We’d been out the whole day together. We caught a show, hit a museum, dropped in on a friend of his at a pool hall, grabbed a bite at a restaurant and generally meandered through the streets of Manhattan until late into the night. We talked about old times back in college, swapped stories about his ex (my then best friend) and my on-again-off-again (his then best friend). Music, family, where-you-said-you-were-gonna-be-10-years-from-now-10 years-ago … All that.
It had been friendly. An occasional hand brush, but still friendly. A shoulder squeeze when we ran into one of those huge, disgusting creatures New York is known for, racing from behind a large dumpster and across the sidewalk. Still though, friendly.
Sidebar: Of course, I had no idea at the time that everything about that evening was completely out of character for BD. The chicken dinner he'd bought me at that dive ... he's a strict vegan who has a serious beef with meat eaters. Later he'd empty our refrigerator and cabinets of any animal derivative food products and forbid me from going to the store alone. The margaritas he'd tried to pour down my throat, while sitting at a bar, no less ... This dude doesn't even go into bars. And he doesn't touch alcohol because it contains evil spirits that inhabit your soul. Yes. Really.
But that's all hindsight. We're not there yet.
We walked everywhere that night. It rained and we kept walking. Talking. Laughing. And though the undeniable tension in the air at the time, along with the time that’s past since then, certainly blurs my recollection a bit, you always remember the moment when things changed.
“Can you keep a secret,” he asked, nonchalantly as we walked. I smiled broadly, betraying the cool I’d hoped to exude if and when the proposition, no matter how subtle, came. Perhaps I really wasn’t expecting it.
I thought: Absolutely. I have a closet full of them.
I said: “I suppose you can’t really know that until I tell. Or not,” I added, meeting his eyes. He smiled.
We retired that night to his second story walk-up studio apartment, atop a dirty bodega, cramped, dim and awkwardly positioned on a narrow street between an abandoned parking lot and a littered yard. I, enchanted with all things “bright-lights-big-city,” was perfectly comfortable. And in his XXL T-shirt, even more so.
The next morning was Saturday.
It’s hard to know, on a night like that Friday -- when something so far-fetched moves closer than you might ever have thought likely -- just how the covering of night will have changed things, until the sun breaks through the slats in the blinds. That’s when you know.
For me, it was a little later than daybreak. The phone rang. BD rolled out of bed to pick it up off the kitchen wall, while I smoothed my hair and positioned myself as flatteringly as I could for his retun.
“Hey man, what’s up? Nah, chillin …”
The space was small and I wasn’t trying, but I could hear the deep and distinct male voice on the other end. I knew that voice. It was Digital, BD’s best friend.
BD sat on the bed next to me, phone to his ear, motioning for me to be quiet. Shamefully aroused, I hadn’t said a word.
Ahh the power of secrets. Though seductive at first, trust me, they are always inevitably damning.
-- Melyssa Ganache
Check out Confessions of a Single Mom on In Between Disappointments tomorrow when Melyssa has her first realization that she may be in for more than she can handle.
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