A Thread Of String

I pointed towards the bar. She smiled.

I poured two drinks, ice clinking in the glass as if we were cheering. It was the kind of melody I was used to.

I handed her the drink and waited until she tasted. Her faded red lips enveloped the bottom of the glass and she grinned.

“Is it alright?”

She nodded.

She got up and sat down next to me. There was a thread of string caught in her fingernail, she fidgeted with it until it was free and she flicked it. It danced in the heavy air for a bit before resting on the carpet. Her perfect profile turned towards me.

Her eyes were as broad as fishbowls, as full of life as fresh batteries, and dancing with mine. I leaned in awkwardly for a kiss, met her lips, without static, but with spark.

After a minute or so our lips detached, but our eyelids opened. Eye to eye, our minds danced in an embrace. We caught every twitch of each others eyes, and depressed each others hands accordingly, almost imperceptibly.

I took a sip of my drink. It burned, but only slightly. She did the same and licked those lips.

We stared at each other for a moment longer before the laughter started. Muted, polite, at first. And then uproarious, genuine.

“Can you believe…” I said.

She took a sip of her drink and then nodded her head no.

We locked eyes at that point. And from that point forward.