| DC Girl |
Posted
on 07-May-04 01:55 AM
I meet this someone. He is American; white, blonde, tall and skinny, whatever adjectives you choose to describe isn’t enough. I am someone with pitch black hair and dark skin. An alien.
My hair swings and brushes his cheeks as I bend over his shoulder to look at a picture he is pointing at. He glances at me and glances away as I turn to look at him. I wished he liked me. I so wished that in between long conversations we had, he’d just shut my mouth and reach towards my lips.
Next he holds my hand and swirls me to the dance floor. My skirt flips and in a minute or so I start swinging in air. I turn, twist, spin, crush him with speed, hide my head in his chest, move here, move there, dance; to a music that is loud, that is somehow becoming alien, somewhat sweet yet painful. I sometimes step on his shoes and he does on mine. The music plays on, the drum beats, voices crack in hoarseness, yet we dance. We stumble over each other in a frenzy, reach for our lips, and hold back. I try to understand him, but he just stares at something and looks away, sometimes looks down, at times glances at other women, yet holds my hand to dance…we keep the duet on. In between confusion and angst, in between happiness and hidden pain, he looks at me and looks away, my alien culture looms large in between us; and my beautiful silky hair is all of a sudden black and ugly, not blonde and shining. He reaches my lips and I stay unmoved. Confused, I move again, towards him. ‘Weird’ thinks he so I resume to dancing. I dance and dance until my head spins and I see everything moving round in a circle. I’m loosing my consciousness. My mind is failing me; I think and think why he doesn’t make a move, until I can’t think anymore. Does he not like me?
We are dancing like aliens, jumping and moving in speed, without rhythm, touching each other yet no sensation, like carcasses…why? I want to ask him. Is my alien culture really so alien? Do I smell Chinese food when I am here dancing with you? I want to ask him while he pretends to like me. But no. I can’t ask him because my mind seizes to function and my body gives in…
He suddenly holds my failing body and hugs me. In between pain and guilt, he murmurs “I’m sorry my sweetheart. I was just being a devil. You’ll be fine; I’ll take care of you.” He then reaches my lips…
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