Tactile

"And when your working day is through
You walk the darkness to your bed
To dream the dreams that live inside your head"
 - Faraway Look, by Yola 


I was driving home close to midnight after having spent the evening with my brother and his friend, when my thoughts caught on the odd and lovely little tactile moments of the past few hours. The way I drove us to a new destination along a road curving and turning through what we discovered to be a wildlife preserve there in the hill country, before depositing us at a large shopping center. The way we walked round about until we found the right place, while I rubbed perfume onto my wrists and my brother's friend combed her fingers through her waist-length hair. The three of us, finding the art exhibit inside the artist's colony, wandering through the rooms examining the art and wondering what it'd be like to live there. Wondering at the location of such a place; all those young, eager artists feeding off of each other's creativity in a space adjacent to a movie theater and a Dillards. We looked at the art and listened to the live band and ate free chips and queso and drank cocktails. We talked with strangers about their art, pulled into the wonder of finding one's medium within the entire spectrum of possibilities. A people-watcher by nature, that space proved to be a fascinating opportunity: hair all colors of the rainbow, tattoos of every design, fashion choices of every style, from conservative to wildly bold. As for my choice of wardrobe, I wore a simple, favorite dress given to me by a friend in Belgium, with sandals from my sister. Secret significance.

We drove to a bar partially made out of old train cars. I posed for pictures on ancient red carpet-covered seats. A band of older gentlemen played upbeat classics, and soon the dance floor was flooded with couples. It was sweet the see the older couples step and spin, and funny to note one younger couple where the guy kept trying to kiss the girl at the end of a song while holding her in a dip, and how she laughingly yet firmly protested. The moment a song would end, the floor would clear out, yet as soon as another classic would start up the floor would fill once more. We talked about this; how no one was willing to stay and wait for the next song, but would rather go sit, along with everyone else, only to get up again if it was one they liked. I thought about how interesting a time-lapse video of the night would be, the floor filling and clearing in a continuous rhythm while the band remained steadily in the background, playing and singing songs by Creedence Clearwater Revival and others. I ate the cherry in my amaretto sour, the candied fruit sweet in my mouth.

We drove to a third and final destination that night. Over the loud music, we leaned in close to talk about childhood and friendship. A disco ball shimmered above us. I reached back and braided my hair, my elbows pointing at odd angles. My brother stroked his beard in thought one moment, his face splitting into a wide smile the next which danced in his eyes.

Nearly back to my brother's apartment, he decided to give off an ear-splitting shriek in the car, just to mess with his friend and I. He did it again, while I gritted my teeth at the terrible sound. I let him know I wanted to smack him, though I didn't do it. Instead, I swerved the car sharply along the dark, empty street, eliciting a gasp from his friend in the back. I apologized, explaining that I just wanted to give him something to actually yell about. I understood the commotion, after all; sometimes you just want to yell, like the scene in "Garden State" where they scream into the abyss. I didn't much like that movie except for that scene. I've remembered that one part often, because it was so cathartic. So I let my brother yell without asking him to stop, my quick twists of the steering wheel akin to joining in the chaos.

In front of his place, he reached over and hugged me tight. We said goodnight and I drove the long way home, thinking of art and music and dancing, of crunchy chips and a sweet cherry, of leaning in close to hear each other's words and the comfort of anywhere new when you're with anyone familiar.