My gaze sticks to the table as my finger scratches at the smooth surface. My mind aches as I unbury a moment in time that has been brought back to my attention by the simple, common smell of burning tobacco. I can hear the paper crackling as the heat turns it to ash with each inhaled breath. I envelop myself in this sound, wrapping it around me like a comfort blanket, hiding in the images, from the future. Helplessly fading from the present, I close my eyes and remember.
It is a rare occurrence indeed when a person I meet in life matches the complexity and depth of the characters that I create in my head, which is why it was such a surprise when Cory entered my life. For not only did he equal the appeal of my characters, but he bettered them. His dark, open eyes, under a constantly furrowed brow spoke heavily of a painful history. A level of strife that I understood, though I soon realized as we began learning about each other that Cory held more experience in one single memory than I have encountered in my entire life.
I concluded that after all he’s been through, he sees differently than most, for in his eyes, everyone is part of a whole, a single mass of people, and it requires a very special kind of person to draw his attention away from his thoughts. I don’t understand why he gave me a chance, and he doesn’t truly understand what exactly it was about me that made it so easy for him to open up. It seemed all I had to do was look at him, with my wide, accepting eyes, and his problems would slip off his lips and pool in my lap. He once told me that the way I loved others without any benefit to myself reminded him of how he used to be just two years prior. Maybe, it was that reason alone that explains why uncharacteristically gave me his attention.
For about a week he spent hours in the night speaking of his past, and soon it became clear exactly how the sadness had crept into his eyes. His stories were full of deceit, anger, blame, and loss, and as his accounts slowly piled on my shoulders, his memories blended into my own. I’ve always had the ability to not only read a person’s emotions, but upon seeing the feeling expressed on their features, I feel what emotions are coursing through their blood, and I know the hidden thoughts that scrape against their skull. For but a moment in time, I saw through their eyes and I understood why all these emotions and thoughts existed. It is not through events, ideas, or opinion that I connect with others, it is through emotion, and in this case, when he spoke, the emotions that he poured into me moved me more profoundly than any have before.
After one such night, I took him away from his memories, and brought him into one of mine. Sneaking into a mansion, still in its early stages, the expanse of it resembling a large tree house, I revealed to him in exchange a little of what I viewed through my eyes. As time progressed, the cold finally got to us, and in attempts to cease my shivering, he carefully pulled me into his lap and bent his back over me as protection from the biting air. That was when he first kissed me: a nervous, slow kiss that calmed my shaking.
As the cold eventually seeped into us completely and caused both of our frail frames to tremble, we stood only to realize that we could no longer feel our feet. As we wobbled back to the car, I turned around and observed him struggling to light a cigarette, cradled in his lips, with a quivering hand as he muttered soft curses under his breath. A wave of warmth then seeped into my cheeks, and I don’t ever recall feeling any warmer than I did upon seeing him.
A couple of days passed before Cory invited me over to his place, and upon arriving, his roommates brightened their expressions as they cast their gazes towards me. They now understood why he had spent hours that day cleaning the house. He simply turned his head somehow embarrassed, and mumbled disagreement. Hours progressed, and we ended up in his small room, which did not even contain a bed, but only a single, rickety chair set next to a computer.
He had appeared reluctant to show her his room, for it smelled heavily of piss, for his dog lived inside there whenever Cory was gone. I must admit, that I was quite surprised at how little I cared about the stench. I even took comfort in the candles that he lit to mask the smell, and I watched the light from the flames flicker upon his dried, peeling walls that were covered with posters of various bands. Yet, the faded glow upon his face stunned me, and I regretfully had to turn my eyes away from drinking in his appearance. I enjoyed the sight far too much for my own good; even then, I knew this to be true. The moment weakened me, drawing discomfort until he turned on music and sat beside her in the chair I was sitting in.
Leaning his head upon my shoulder, exposing his slender neck, my fingertips began to trace imaginary lines along his chin and lips. Then, turning to her, he whispered his delicate breath upon my skin, and when his lips touched mine, they spoke a language not expressed in words. Pulling her from the seat, we stood in the middle of the room, and for the first time that I could remember, as he peeled the clothes from my body, I felt as if he was literally stripping away my barriers.
Never before had I stood naked and felt my bareness reflect her vulnerability, but as he pulled back the dark hair falling in front of his face, and reached for my chin to draw my lips to his once more, my worries and fears fell from me and lied crumpled on the stained floor alongside my clothes. As we lowered to the floor, my hands explored the curve of his lower back as his mouth tasted the nape of my neck, and, I experienced more feeling in one moment than I had ever faced before as a wave of pleasure soon intoxicated me. Pausing only momentarily, his eyes met mine and in that instant something passed between us that finalized a decision. With his breath shallow, he leaned forward while clasping my hand into his. As my eyes closed, I felt my body lean into his as he slipped inside. With a tight clenching of muscles, all of my breath left me in a single throaty sigh.
I knew that his kisses were not to be mistaken as a handshake, and when he placed his lips upon mine, his brow relaxed and his gaze seemed less burdened. It simply felt right. In the morning, we took a shower together. He placed his head in my lap, and it was my turn to protect him, for the water a quickly turned cold, and we were left once again with nothing more than each other to provide warmth. Eventually, turning off the water, I grabbed a towel, which I soon realized was covered in dog hair (for nothing in the house was free from it), and dried him off. He in turn did the same for me. Shortly after, he received a call from his mother, and I drove him to see her.
This was the last time that I saw him as his true self, for as a month passed, I gradually witnessed a change in his behavior. He shut himself away, and instead of speaking to me, he resided in his inward thoughts. I had aroused memories that had been previously hidden safely inside of him, and in response, he trapped himself in his room, away from outward distractions, away from others judgments, and away from others’ words, trapped alone with his own thoughts. Needing to sort through them and piece together his memories, placing the past back where it should be and finding himself once again.
I did not know, and perhaps no one really understands why, but he began to push me away. His empty words beat against my skull, squeezed against my heart, and chocked my own speech. It is true that I allowed him to reveal more of himself than I permitted him to know of myself. How could I have understood the effects of exposing myself to others when I have dwelled mostly in my own thoughts and fears? So, I held my tongue when I wished I would have spoken, and I was afraid to show him exactly how I felt for him. It is possible, I suppose, that he simply thought that I just didn’t care enough or have enough opinions. Either way, I was just not enough of something.
I couldn’t reveal myself enough for him to see me as more than just a lib upon the body of people around him. On the outside there is nothing but my deep, intense eyes that show a slight uniqueness, but if he were to have the patience needed, he would have found what truly makes me stand apart. I could help him, but who is to say that he wants it, for it is easier to be unaware. In ignorance, there is always the possibility for hope, with no definite answer; the truth could be however he wants to perceive it. It is easier to hate than forgive.
It is not often that I come across someone who defeats the appeal of the characters that I create in my head, and it so happens that this one boy did just that and, while he was at it, stole a piece of my heart. After his self reflection is finished, and when he finally steps from his room, who is to say that he hadn’t shed his thoughts of me? Who is to say that he’ll even bring me out with him? Perhaps he leaves the memory of her still crumpled upon his floor. Hope speaks of second chances. Hope tells me that his willingness to share such personal matters means that he’ll not forget me, that I wasn’t just a notch on his bedpost. But, the truth must come eventually and either appease or destroy these certain wishful thoughts. One thing remains certain though, I never once believed that the smell of piss and menthol cigarettes would ever bring me such comfort as it has in days of late.
