Method of Mancy

The lights are dim and cast a moody orange haze over the bar patrons. It glints off the copper finishes around the room, creating twinkles in the corner of my eye. A woman behind the bar with stylish short hair grabs my arm when I’m not looking and firmly places a stamp on the back of my hand before I fully process that she was touching me at all.

I’m tucked in at my stool and there are bodies crowded around me in a soft U, chattering back and forth like a game of volleyball. I shake hands and try to remember the names of all the people my lover introduces me to. I share enthusiastic greetings with the ones I’ve already met, trading embraces and pleasantries. For the most part, I’m simply carried along, while I take slow, infrequent sips from the Old Fashioned in my hands. The two of us split off into separate conversations for several minutes, remaining right next to each other all the while, occasionally reaching a hand out to the other to connect again without breaking the flow of our dialogues.

Later, we escape the warm and bustling bar environment in favor of the harsh autumn night surrounding the patio and continue to socialize separately, but never too far apart. I crowd around the heater with old friends of mine and we catch up off and on, allowing the interruptions of others coming to say hello. I stand and chat for a long time, holding my empty water glass near to my chest and wishing it was once again full. 

Eventually, my love pulls me back into the building to another circle of people, some I know and some I don’t. We gather around a small square table and I squeeze into the booth next to someone I don’t know, while he takes the chair at the edge. He comes bearing gifts, a delicate brandy glass brimming with expensive spirits for a friend at the table. The air is full of laughter and a smile breaks out across his face like a comet brightens the night sky. 

Slowly, like falling asleep, the world around me starts to dim. The rap music playing overhead, the cacophony of conversations all around, the piercing bells of laughter, and all of the people surrounding us fade away completely until the only thing I can see is him. The light falls across the planes of his skin like it yearned desperately to rest on his face. His eyes are portals into the cosmos, into heaven itself, dark and mysterious but warm and full of life. He’s a firework breaking across the sky, showering the world in magic–so bright that everything else disappears. That boom of gunpowder echoes and pounds in my chest disguised as a heartbeat and I can’t help but stare at the beauty of him–unfathomable and right by my side.