Thomas liked to spot the fakers.
He spent his nights in bars matching hair colors to fears – and he divided up the dance floor into 3 spaces – the first was ruled by the blonde…yeah, she was trying too hard to be THE BLONDE – she faked it. And the dark haired one owned the corner and she bumped into too many strangers not to fake it…and the dancing redhead in the center, she definitely faked it but –
Something about the redhead ringed into his imagination – she was all he could see – and he noticed how her hair was actually just touched by red – it was also light with tasteful streaks and lavished upon with lowlights and good breeding. It was thick hair piled onto a thick body, not heavy mind you – just full – an impression making, large cupped chest and huge curves that pushed eyes downward and activated the breed response in men. With a little more food, those curves could turn into unwanted spread flesh. But now, at the world initiating age of eighteen, those curves moved to the rhythms with the confidence that they were built to last. But in that confidence, they were scared that maybe…well – the fear of youth, Thomas once wrote, is seeing you’ll have to learn that nothing is built to last. Especially, he would have added had he known this girl, those curves….
But she was here now, and even though the bar was mostly dark he could see all of her, because his mind lit her from memory rather than light – another girl’s face aiming his recognition with the fragments of what remained between them…what he and life hadn’t accidentally killed for good…and he saw his past float over this bar-girl and then outline her, shape itself to her curves and then into her soul with cold accuracy. There she danced – so young, so there, and so planned.
Thomas was so covered in his lost past he couldn't move – he wanted to yell to this girl: No…don’t fake it…don’t settle…don’t hate guys like me because….
Because we love you, he thought. Yes…he held his emotion high for a moment – and then he smiled. He whispered, maybe to himself, maybe as an argument to God: We’re the only ones that can love you…. He then took a long, long sip before he walked over and shouted into the red hair, “You fake it!”
He felt her enormous hair toss against his face, and then he saw the smile – bright and curious – the smile didn’t run, slap, yell, dance away – and her sudden stillness allowed Thomas more introduction and he took advantage of it…he used all his desperation to find confidence, all his arresting oddness to gain her interest, promising a lot without promising, and promising to let her know what she faked. To grab her curiosity, he acted like it didn’t have anything to do with sex – and then he listened to her name, Denise, ripple through his head. It was at least, he thought, a new name.
Thomas told Denise they should sit down and talk about the story, the one she’d just inspired by being here. He promised her she’d like it. And then he told himself she needed these lies.
And now, weeks later, Thomas still hadn’t told Denise what she faked. But he hadn’t told her what he faked, either. He kept critical parts of his imagination pretty by hoping she could handle it.
___
Thomas’ place had the desperation and simplicity any sanctuary carries, but it failed miserably as a sanctuary because of its size – it was too small, so small it barely contained what little was left of him. There was a camping bed he bought so he wouldn’t have to think about buying a real bed, and the pump he used to inflate it. There was a desk, long and grey and erratically broken off at the end; on it sat a sleek, silver laptop and nothing else. A black leather chair sat directly in sight of the laptop – and that was it as far as what he brought to the place. A tall bar stool sat to the right of the desk and chair – but it was there when he moved in; he would never have bought it. Yet, it served a nice purpose for him: It theatrically elevated Denise into a heightened subject. And she needed that elevation. Denise was built on being a heightened subject. And problem one for her, Thomas told her, was that she was going to learn that adoration was a helluva drug to lose.
