Under the Lightning Bugs

It was the kind of place that you could feel at home; or in an older, cooler uncle’s apartment.

I had settled in comfortably with my surroundings, the jovial atmosphere and thud of darts into board.

Something tonight was different. The faces were the same, but still, the air vibrated with untapped humming.

Your stomach clenches. Your skin is thrumming.

A pair of laughing friends like coyotes breaks the tension in the air like an arrow shot right to the bullseye.

Something so familiar and yet, completely unfamiliar calls to you deep into the heart of your being.

Your befuddled friends watch you walk away. They look at each other and shrug.

You’re hearing it now. A whisper. You feel like you’re dreaming, footfalls leaving a cloud of vapor on your trail.

Your breath seems shaky; limbs leaden.

The patio’s strung lights look like lightning bugs. Someone ordered fries.

You stand at the entrance and breathe in the dense air. It smells like alcohol and cigarette smoke and bar food.

Hot, and humid.

The pull becomes more insistent, and you swear you’re about to pass out. The finest sheen of sweat has erupted on the back of your neck.

You take a shambling step forward and perk your ears. The hum of conversation fades into the background as you hear the voice of her.

Something inside of you roars to life. It’s the explosion of your universe and the sigh of a butterfly. It’s everything you’ve ever known and nothing you’ve ever seen.

Reduced to the rubble of your life as it was before this moment, there it is.

The laugh. You hear it and smile, like you’ve heard it hundreds of times, and relieved that you will hear it the rest of your life.

A frog has lodged itself in your throat as your eyes fall on the creature that has bewitched your mind and soul.

The world falls quiet.

Every cell in your body has hushed, pregnant with expectation and anticipation.

Your eyes meet. She smiles.

And your world collided and heart quivering, you walk up, each step heavy as quicksand.

You’re going to say something, her hair glowing in the heat of the night. You smell crisp roses.

Your mouth opens. You have to be smooth. You have to keep your cool. The universe hangs in the balance.

Several syllables tumble out of your mouth in a rush and her eyes widen. Then, she’s laughing. Oh no, oh no.

Your eyes meet.

You hear the echo of your words hanging in the air: ‘Betcha I could whoop ya at some pool.’

She’s smiling at you again and something inside of you seems to have caught fire. Your fingertips tingling, those lips, those lips…

They float to your ears in waves;

“Bet you can’t,” she says with a laugh.

The universe fell to its knees.