(exerpt from Sleeping Elephant… draft one)
To say that his kiss was beautiful seemed too generic a description to do it any justice. The universe is big. War is a bad idea. All the understatements ever made could not compare. Antigone walked around for days in a haze of sheer fascination. She nearly giggled like a girl each time she felt diaphanous flutters in the pit of her stomach when she remembered how his tongue parted her lips– It was fucking gorgeous, she thought.
Flashbacks of their impromptu meeting at the pub that Friday afternoon nourished her for days. The touch of his hand on her cheek–the way his fingers slid through her hair–the way he held her gently to him— she was the heroine in a film. But she sat in traffic on the following Friday on her way to see him again with demons inside her head. –It had been too perfect. It was staged. Player. Alert. Battle stations.
But she could not deny how much she wanted him. He smiled when he saw her. She smiled at him. He took a big breath. They embraced. His eyes looked into hers–they followed her hairline–her cheeks–down her neck–her mouth–back at her eyes. So optimistic. There were tears there. He had lingered. She had not wanted to leave. He had not wanted to go.
–Maybe he was being real?
He had to go. He was late to pick up his children for their weekend visit so he kissed her one last time and went. Antigone drove home in a virtual vacuum of delight. For the next two days, all seemed well. There had been good conversations via text on Saturday. On Sunday, there had only been one explaining he would be out with his children. There had been no text on Monday. The text message came through on Tuesday morning. He was not ready for a relationship. He felt guilty. He did not want to hurt her. He was messed up because of his ex.
Antigone turned the kettle on. “Stupid,” she said. She closed her eyes.