One night you will bump into me on a crowded dance floor. Cobwebs of laser lights atop the sticky swarm of shirtless men. Eyes rolling to the back of our sockets. Rippling abs glisten amidst the throb a-throb throb and the thump a-thump thump.
We dance — you, your boyfriend, me, and mine — in a tight circle. Chest to chest. Breath steaming our cheeks. Palms snug in the back pockets of soaking jeans. You lean on me, whispering: He’s a keeper. I tilt my head, grinning: So is yours.
We shuffle out onto the patio, our boyfriends making small talks. Behind us, the door opens and closes — the throb a-throb throb and the thump a-thump thump drifting in and out. The smoke of our cigarettes.
You look good. I’m glad he makes you happy. Squeezing your thigh, the same one I know so well. Years, in a flash, of running and running, falling and stumbling.
I leave the club shortly with the boyfriend. We will break up in a few months. And you'll break up with yours too. But you stay and you play 'til the lights come up. 'Til the sun rises. 'Til the throb a-throb throb and the thump a-thump thump and the men, there no longer.
from The Way Back (Foglifter Press, 2022) by Edward Gunawan
