One Page #14

It so captures my emotional state that I am riveted at the edge of my seat. My hands are clasped on my lap, and sweating because the auditorium is so incredible hot with stinky bodies soaked from the million degree weather outside. But I am not thinking about my hands right now, or the heat outside. I am thinking about the woman that is standing at the podium about a mile away down a cascading series of blue seats, mostly filled. There are a few people next to me who are all asleep, and I can’t believe they aren’t interested. At least we are far away and the woman down below probably can’t see them sleeping, especially with the bright lights in her eyes that catch the silver of her necklace and sending dancing spirals into the auditorium and she looks like she is dancing. I imagine myself dancing up next to her, gently placing a hand on her hip, and my other hand in hers. We slowly move toward one another and my hand slides around to the small of her back where it is damp just like her neck with beads of perspiration that sends her sweet smell into my nose and hair and clothes. I breathe in deeply, and remember as I breathe in the pungent odor of those near me that I am sitting miles away from her, and she is talking still. I refocus. I straighten my back and fix my collar to make sure it is lying flat. I think about what I will say when I get to shake her hand. I wonder if I can make her fall in love with me with two sentences. I think about what those sentences will be. And then I wonder whether I can do it in one. But I can’t come up with the perfect sentence so I go back to two sentences. She concludes, with her hands resting on either side of the podium. I imagine her as the domineering sort, the kind to push you against a wall with her leg in between yours, her hands chaining yours to the wall. She nods in thanks to the audience as the clapping goes on. The lights brighten and she moves to a room behind the podium. I watch her disappear through the door, and try to perfect my two sentences. I follow the crowd down the aisles and outside into the mezzanine that is brightly lit and not air conditioned. I worry that she will see the stains at my arm pits. I lean against the wall, having no one to talk to, and wait for her to appear. When she does the crowd thrusts toward her and I am in the back. I was waiting in the wrong side, damn. Slowly people disperse. As I work my way towards her I can see her glittering eyes and warm smile. She is shaking everyone’s hands. Some hand her business cards. She turns to go back into the door from which she came and I jump at her. The two sentences are gone, and all I can say is thank you. She smiles, looks at my pit stains, and disappears.