Lone Star Linda

Can you fall in love with someone in a night? For a night? Leaving whatever it was to linger after and eventually just turn to vapor?

Because honestly your interaction lasted for what? Less than 24 hours.

Well it has happened to me twice. I guess that permanently cements both how much of a lesbian I am and how much of an emo kid I will always be at heart. Twice its happened and both times the meeting place has been the same. Cubby Hole I owe my lone one night stand and my two 24 hour loves to you.

Of course they were both visitors. This being my bar; I can smell new blood. Call it a single lesbians sixth sense.

The first she was beautiful and completely unexpected. Linda we shall call her. For that is the only Portuguese word she taught me which I remember. Quite and shy she had somehow both cemented and hidden herself amongst a crew of my friends. I say friends with stress. Because what are the people you only know when drunk? The people whom you share weekly laughs with. Hear secrets that they would never dare to reveal during sober daytime hours. Bar best friends. Those who you make well intentioned and honest promises of day dates with, that somehow always fall through. I retract any previous thoughts or ideas passing them off as sub par friendships. These friends know some of my biggest secrets. Have seen me at my best – walking into the door and worst – walking out. They remain as both some of the finest and some of the most off the wall people I know.

She was from Brazil, and spoke English with an accent that was musical. She spoke with caution as if she was scared saying a word wrong or using it out of place would result in my dismissal. Nothing consequently was lost in translation. I found her hesitation to be adorable. I was hooked.

I got caught in the crowd that night. Talking to everyone I bumped elbows with, yet never letting my gaze stray too far, from her. The bars crowd thinned out. Friend after friend called the evening quits but I was holding out. I wanted her alone. I was holding on to blind faith. See I hadn’t said more than a paragraph to her all night. I had a feeling. Fuck it could have just been all of the two dollar margaritas knocking around in my stomach. But, a feeling I had.

I made my way over to her and suddenly I was engulfed. She was sweetness and foreign sensibility. A model who was in school for jewelry design. She loved art and alcohol and well for anyone that’s it isn’t it? You appreciate amazing art, you appreciate alcohol. It’s just an automatic partnership. We spoke for god knows how long. And than we didn’t speak at all. I felt what it was like to kiss someone who a few hours ago had been another stranger at the bar, and now suddenly was a new day. I didn’t take her home. We had that night. Those bar stools. And a walk. We had twilight drunk feet, leading us nowhere in particular. Still friends. She still questions her perfect English. I still wonder why Brazil is so far away. Or rather what would have happened had it been hours closer.

I had this southern thing for awhile. It was completely accidental but for reasons unbeknownst to me, if I went out looking to meet a girl, she would be from the south. I nickname everyone upon meeting them. As a product of having the attention span of a Jack Russell I simply do not have the knack of remembering names. I have therefore become the nickname giver of all givers. My creativity clearly peaking, I called every girl I met in this time by state they were from. Genius. Original. I know, you don’t have to bother showing me your awe. Kentucky and Texas were the two most memorable. Texas is who this story is about.

The foundation of that night is blurry. It was Halloween and well us gays tend to get good and liquored up on OUR holiday. I’m totally taking ownership of a holiday that I actually despise. Manhattan on Halloween is actual hell. Costumes not necessary. It’s fun. But it’s not. Getting from anywhere to anywhere else is well miraculous. Booze is necessary, for a night of drunken navigation and ridiculous encounters.

I did not see her at first. Cubby was packed and I was with familiar faces. She kept popping up or rather in. She made her presence known before I had the chance to notice her. God. Damn. This girl was gorgeous. Like take your breath away, you don’t see her everyday gorgeous. I thanked every inch of my twenty two year old life that I was black and therefore she couldn’t see me blushing.

Something about her made me feel high. Giddy. We avoided real conversation for awhile. I made small remarks to her as I went to get drinks from the bar. Finally as people left I allowed her magnetic pull to swiftly grab me as if I had never had a choice. She smiled as if she had known all along; that I didn’t have a choice.

There are some people I meet who I feel an instant comfort with. This is rare as I am someone who interacts often yet never feels the reigns of wanting to reel someone into my brain. Into my past and into the vault where my emotions lay. She came equipped with the master key. There is a certain calmness I feel when I talk to a person who I know hasn’t had it easy. There is instantanious respect and query. I feel compelled to both protect them and pry. To learn everything behind the spider webbed doors in their minds. She had, had it rough. She was an artist. An amazing one. A thinker. A critic. Cynical yet bright eyed. Confident as fuck. It hurt, her ego. But it was sexy and jesus was it fun. I opened up to that girl more than I knew it was possible for my tongue to.

I took her home. The image of her in my bed stayed longer than I could comprehend.

It was a night.
Only a night.
I gave her my favorite t shirt to wear when she left the next morning, knowing damn well I’d never get it back. On September 23rd 1989 a baby left Texas and on a cool day 22 years later, a piece of that baby landed back home.

Who says love has a time to start or a time to end? Who says that we can’t love and than love again. Maybe it wasn’t love I felt. Maybe it was the intensity of the moment. Knowing that tonight, that night was all we had. Living fast. Loving every minute of it. Opening up because it was safe to. Because tomorrow that person couldn’t look into your eyes and reflect back your secrets. I feel and I felt and that is all I know. The truth is who really understands love anyway?

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