So it's a date. I pick you up at around 4 pm. We go out for dinner at your favorite restaurant where we get to order different things that we both wouldn't mind trying out of each other's plate. We make fun of how all the waiters are wearing aprons that make them look like they're demonstrating at a gay parade... I'm not judging here, just making a note. The guy who waited our table kept giving us looks that said a lot of things; things like the two of you don't belong here, you better leave me a generous tip... things of that sort. I think it was me being picky about the food and writing comments in the small 'whatdoyouthink' card that they leave at restaurant tables that caused that kind of behavior, or at least that's why I hope he gave us that grumpy look. That's right. I'm writing his name down as the waiter that smirked at me like there's a roasted fly inside my chicken enchilada.

"Don't you find it funny that we always come back to this place and find that none of the suggestions we wrote here were taken by no matter how great they were? It's as if they have the space for it there on purpose, just to make you feel like your opinion doesn't matter. It's basically as if they're saying 'we don't give a fuck, so don't bother'. How about the fact that they always leave a blank space for your phone number and never get to call you back" I said.

'They'd only call you if you wrote that you've had food poisoning or that the smoked turkey tasted like human flesh... and as for the suggestions, they probably don't, so don't bother' that's what you said smiling.

We paid our check and obviously left no tip at all. Call me cheap, but that guy should work at a clinic, where no matter how awful he behaves you'd always have more serious things to worry about.

We left off to the local Jazz Club. It's located at the banks of the River Nile and the environment it provides is just stunningly beautiful. It makes you feel like you're floating into a parallel universe where everything seems alright; at least that's how we felt. I got a little bothered by all the west-wannabes who hang there all the time just to feel different from the rest of their society, but I didn't comment on that out loud. I wanted nothing to ruin our night, not even my silly comments, especially my comments. We ordered our drinks, chatted about everything that exists in this world like two people just getting to know one another, then we stopped talking for what seemed like an hour. We just sat there and watched the jazz band play all night, as if they were created just to make us feel better, just for this one night, just for us. They started playing our song, Desafinado by Antonio Carlos Jobim, lyric less, just a saxophone and a few more instruments. I wouldn't mind if the music was accompanied by its original Portuguese vocals, not the English ones though. It's more beautiful that way, when you don't really know what they're saying, when you can imagine the most beautiful words singing along to the most beautiful music one can ever listen to. Come to think of it, I don't think I would have noticed if they even sang to it, they might just have. I was too busy watching you swing your shoulders to the rhythm. That's when I asked you to dance. I personally didn't want to dance with you in front of all those people. I didn't want you to have their attention. I felt that if they see you, they'd notice that they've had the pleasure of your presence there. I wanted you all for myself. Deep inside, I wasn't even sure I deserved that pleasure. You said no to my dance proposal, that you didn't want people to see you dance; that's when your swinging shoulders stopped, that's when I regretted ever being able to speak. I went up to the band and paid the guy twenty bucks so he'd play the song one more time and he did. We left right after that.

Our final stop was a surprise. I drove off to an isolated river bank that not a lot of people know about, where we just sat there by the water and stared infinitely at the setting. The moon, the stars, the water, they all said how much I loved you. I didn't say anything, didn't have to, you just knew. That's when I started humming our song. I laid out my hand for you and we started dancing, along to a silent music that only the two of us can hear, a dance that only we can see. We danced and danced and I took a picture of this moment with my trusty, imaginary Rolleiflex. If only this imaginary camera was real. If only I could have that picture framed where the two of us would get locked in there forever, shut in and shut away from everything that is material. If only we could dance like this forever, off key...

... then the night was over, I opened my eyes, and you were gone. I hate to think that you never were there with me at that bank. I hate to think that we both turned different corners, that we've never met, or what's worse is that we did and I didn't take my chance. I was probably too afraid to do anything about it, but now... I couldn't be more scared that this dance was never real.

I'll just pretend it was. I'll just live off key, at least in my own imagination, where everything is possible.

E se voce insiste em classificar
Com o meu comportamento de anti-musical
Nao lhes vou mentir ate vou comentar
Que isso e bossa-nova
Que isso e muito natural
Que voce nao sabe nem sequer pressente
E que os desafinados tambem tem um coracao
Fotografei voce na minha role-flix
Revelou-se a sua enorme engratidao

Posted by Яαgιи Яαvєи on Sunday, July 23, 2006 at 7/23/2006 02:23:00 PM | Permalink