The sky was irritatingly sunny. And the wind was evilly withdrawn on this very hot summer day. I sat on my wooden porch swing, barefoot with my tan knees pulled toward my chest, taking deep drags of cigarettes. I picked at my chipped red toe nail polish with one equally chipped fingernail and contemplated resurfacing them with a new color before Miles arrived. But decided against it. Too much work. So, instead I stayed where I was. Smoking deeply, with my back pressed against wood, rocking ever so slightly, to the old blues. The smoke leaving my mouth uncurled itself into the sky as I looked around me, bobbing my head to the music. Old houses with big front porches painted in funny colors like red and turquoise surrounded me. Bordering the back yards and porches were lighting features, like Chinese lanterns, Tiki torches, and white Christmas lights for decoration. They created a refreshing ambiance at night. Scattered in the overgrown front lawns were beer cans and beer bottles, informing passersby that the house was indeed owned by college students. My own home was indeed littered with ciggerette boxes and empty bottles from last night’s rather wild rendez vous. I laughed fondly as I remembered the way everyone immediately upon getting high, sat down to discuss the different meanings in all the aspects of life. It was like the marijuana was a soap washing away everyone’s insecurities and fears for the night. The bud of the plant supplied fertilizer to the blossoming individuals in the room.
And then I saw the most beautiful thing: Miles with his brown curly hair and creamy white skin, pedaling down my street on his blue mountain bike. In his ripped up army coat that he got from his Father, and tan cargo pants, he came to embrace me. His breath, a warm sweet smell of pancakes, splashed my face like warm water on a cold day. His strong arms lifted me off the ground a bit as he leaned back with me. I nuzzled into his shoulder and breathed in the lusciousness of the subtle milky scent. Looking into his face I saw his sapphire blue eyes, glowing in the sunlight. He smiled his crooked little smile dressed in slightly plump red lips and kissed me on the forehead.
“Hello, dear lady,” he said.
I looked up at him and smiled involuntarily from the special gratitude one feels after being flattered. I loved it when he called me that. It made me feel better than what I was.
“Hello, good sir,” I replied.
“How are you feeling,” he asked.
And suddenly without realizing it, any certainty about my mood slipped away from me. And I was left dumb founded. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t sad. I was pleased to see him, but there was still an underlying sentiment of grief in my spirit. I stared into the distance thinking about the valleys between the contrast of my feelings.
And mumbled, “I…I..I actually don’t know.”