Winks (Non-Fiction)

Shitty people talked over shitty music while we sat on a crusted couch, with chip crumbles buried in the middle of the cushions. The room made my skin feel like it was covered in leftover toffee from last night's dessert, and all I really wanted to do at this function was find the door.

Makeup fell off the faces of pretty girls whose lips moved at a mile a minute with absolutely nothing of importance spewing out. They looked like a flock of birds, but not elegant, more like seagulls finding an open bag of unattended chips on the beach. The beginning of their conversations always contained some form of inauthentic compliment.

“You are so pretty!”

“Cute jeans girl!”

“I love that top! You have to tell me where you got it!”

My eyes rolled to the back of my head, letting my mind sink into the black hole. I took a sip of the free White Claw that had been placed in my hand. It tasted like bubbly pee.

I unapologetically moved through the crowd, feeling other people’s sweat brushing onto my uncovered shoulder. I kept walking until I felt the cold air from outside dry the unwelcomed stick off my body.

“Hey,” I heard a voice say from behind me.

I turned over my shoulder to see his gelled black hair perfectly framing his face, and his lips curled into a gentle smile. His phone flashed with a call that broke our stare.

“Hey, where are you guys? Okay. Okay, I might come with Sof.”

The voice tried to promise him a fun time, but he knew these events were so far from my scene that I was in a whole different movie theatre. He hung up the phone and watched my body sulk into a blue car parked in our beloved party host’s driveway. His look pierced right through me as if he could read my body language, without even knowing me all that well. Music from the party came in and out of focus with the door swinging open, and then shut. His brown eyes sparkled in the dark with an idea.

“Do you wanna just get a beer?”

The taste of blood seeped into my mouth, alerting me to the fact that I was subconsciously biting my inner cheek. His hand sunk into mine as we made our way downtown. We didn’t bother to say goodbye to the seagulls still flocking in the heat. The streets of Richmond Row were filled with young academic minds with wobbly legs and cracking laughter.

Our conversation crash-landed on our childhoods somehow. I comfortably shared the upbringing of my Italian culture and how I have always been overlooked by the eyes of my parents. I explained my constant need to prove myself, without questioning the personal level of the conversation. My lips moved speedily as I spilled all my insecurities and burdened him with my dark inner thoughts. Then suddenly the heat of his hand was on my arm and he spun my body into his chest, making my lips smudge onto his. My body lit up like a spark plug, with electricity shaking in my veins. I pulled away to see his brown eyes gazing at me, and suddenly I wanted to know every thought he’s ever had.

We continued our walk until we approached a bright green sign that read “Winks.” The patio had a live band, and there was one corner table left. He ordered us two Stellas before the menus could reach our palms.

“I think we are past the ‘what’s your favourite colour?’ questions,” I said.

“Okay. Give me a good one.”

“Okay. Who was the first person you ever hated?”

He laughed. He shared. We drank. His hand did not leave the touch of mine for the entire duration of the night. I kept prying until our Stella glasses were bone dry.

“I like you a lot,” he said.

For the first time in the night, our table was quiet, and I actually listened to the live band.

“What's on your mind?” I asked.

He shook his head with clenched teeth. I couldn’t tell you what song was playing, but I wish I remembered.

“Come on, tell me what you’re thinking!” I pressed, again.

“I can’t.”

“Why can't you?”

“It’s too soon. I want it to be right.”

The waitress came over and warned us that last call was at 2:00 am. We brushed her away to savour the five minutes we had left.

“You know I'm probably thinking it too,” I said with a giggle, trying to egg him on.

“I need it to be perfect.”

He wasn’t laughing at all. I looked around the patio. There were a couple more tables left as the band played their final song. He let go of my fingertips and leaned back in his chair.

“Fuck it. I love you.”

My smile widened with my tongue pressing into the roof of my mouth. My brain flickered, remembering the last month of banter meshed with raging excitement to see him, even if it was just sitting across from each other at a wholesome bonfire.

“I love you too,” I said.

He leaned over the metal table and kissed me. It was a kiss that felt like our first, and I knew I was going to replay the memory in my head before I fell asleep that night.

“We are so fucked,” I said, giggling.

“We will figure it out,” he replied calmly, shaking the laughter out of me until our eyes locked in a whirlpool of tunnel vision.

“Okay.”

“I guess this is as good as a time as ever, but, uh,… will you be my girlfriend?”

The question reminded me of kindergarten, and how I never received one of those notes that said, “Do you like me?” with two boxes signally “yes” or “no.” I only ever sent those notes and had them returned with the “no” square coloured in.

“Yes,” I replied.

At that moment, I felt like I was standing out a sunroof on a busy highway with the car speeding so fast that the lights passing by looked like red and yellow stripes.

“Fuck. I've never said that to a girl before.”

We kissed again. And again. And again. While his lips pressed on mine, all I could think was, I can’t wait to tell this story.