Just like that, she was a “woman.”
179 seconds, dim lights, in the background was a bootleg movie that she was completely uninterested in, one stained white wife beater, a wasted night and an overactive imagination equated to her “womanhood. ” By the time he came back from the bathroom she was fully dressed. Her house keys were jingling in her hand.
This was a presumptuous, impulsive, stupid ass mistake. I waited 19 years for this?
This night was a contradiction to every R&B song she sang her heart out to. This night made urban fiction truly fiction with no fragment of truth or substance. This night made her long for the daylight. There was no fire, no spiritual awakening, no levitation, no communication and no connection. The only difference between now and 179 seconds prior was now she felt stupid.
Can you take me home now?
She hoped her facial expression asked the question without her having to part her lips. Suddenly he wasn’t funny or charming anymore. He was the accomplice to the theft of her innocence.
He asked her if she wanted to cuddle.
She stared silently but ferociously. Hoping her gaze would force his head to explode and leak gasoline that would fuel his car and autopilot her ass home. She had no intention of seeing him again. Poor unfortunate soul. He was a victim of her expectations.
He was her withered flower. A relaxing candlelit bath gone cold. A piping hot, fresh, homemade meal, with a roach in it. A new, high end, enviable automobile with no engine. A mattress with no sheets. A mylar balloon with a hole in it. A shoe with no sole. A jet with no pilot seat. A disappointment.
Just like that, she was a woman longing to be a girl again.
By: Shaun Liriano