There you were, gorgeous just like they said you'd be. They said you'd given up on love, but that you wanted it. To fall in love, I mean. I didn't know you.
But when I saw you up there on the small stage at the back of the coffee house, sweating and screaming and singing and laying what I could only assume were your emotions out on the table, I was smitten. I could see myself kissing you, ruffling your already tousled strawberry-blonde hair. So I suppose it was just self-fulfilling prophecy when at the Halloween party you took my hand and led me like a child to one of the unoccupied rooms.
"Ssshhh, it's a secret that we're here," you whispered loudly.
I was dressed like Minnie Mouse.
You were dressed like a fifties greaser.
"I have a real secret for you,"
you said, slightly slurring. Even though you were drunk and I was drunk and my head was swimming and my vision was blurred, I focused. I was determined to remember every minute detail of the scene, because I had predicted it and I knew what was coming.
"My secret is. . ." you leaned in conspiratorially and I could smell the sweet and sour Jack and Coke on your breath and I was practically peeing my pants with the anticipation.
"I like you,"
Then you kissed me like something out of a movie, only better, then you stopped. Then you threw up.