Those glistening silver-blue eyes were so bright against the darkness in that moment as she tilted her head down and looked right at me. She was like a lioness under the tall, waving grasses, a hunter at night. Her eyes pierced through the pulsing shadows towards me, beckoning.

I quickly brought my focus back to the photo album. Those were dangerous thoughts. Dangerous memories. Seeing my mother in her wedding dress smiling brightly next to my father pulled me back to reality. I was getting married in two weeks. All the plans were made, everyone had RSVP'd and all the details had been ironed out months in advance. I was practically married. My family certainly made it feel that way. Conversations with aunts and cousins had moved from the wedding and honeymoon to having children and even where we were sending them to school. The craziest part was that I was letting them get to me. The school where we would send our children was a pretty big thing to consider.

My mother in her wedding portrait was young and radiant, in her early twenties. But as the pictures became newer, her smile began to progressively take on the form of plaster. Her eyes revealed the tired truth while her face mimicked what it knew to be happiness. I wondered sadly what brought that on. Was it us kids, the marriage, the job?

I had confidence in my marriage. What my fiance and I had was stable. I was certain that I would never see that dreadful fake smile on either of us. We dated for a year and a half, and only got in one fight. Well, two, if you count that night. I never do. Nothing good came of it. All I know is that in the yelling and cruel pointing of fingers, my thoughts became consumed with blackness and dripped red at the corners. I needed something to fill those dangerous spaces with something louder and more distracting than the things that would surely come if I had looked at his face any longer.

She noticed me before I noticed her. Through the almost impenetrable crowd of the pulsating club, her eyes found me. I thought nothing of her at first, but then I saw how she stood out. The music flowed through her like water, pouring gracefully out through her arms, hips, and feet. I gravitated towards her, and when we met, electricity crackled through our skin, threatening to catch one of us on fire. But in that one moment, I don't know if either of us would've cared.

She was anything but the trashy, unclean things that slunk about bars and clubs. She didn’t fall ungracefully into a thin paper cut-out of skin and tight clothes, wilting at the edges with a whiff of smoke or alcohol. I was convinced for hours that she smelled naturally of wild flowers. Her soft, glowing skin stayed true throughout the night. The rest of it was a blur, getting in around three then waking up with a headache. After that, every little detail that came back to me was of her.

The longing I felt when those things came to me was scary. She was angelic in my murky, intoxicated eyes, but now that I was sober, I should’ve been ridden with regret. I wanted to be boiling in inner turmoil, but I still found myself smiling when she came to mind. I should’ve been pounding myself for answers, like why a girl when previously I'd been so sure that I was straight?
Just then I heard the door click open and he stepped inside.

"Hi honey," I said.

He responded kindly with the same, and smiled. I was suddenly taken aback by the tired, obligated plaster that he wore. His eyes had retreated into the back of his mind, devoid of any true emotion. I was shocked. All of a sudden the person I saw was not my beloved fiance, but a sad puppet that had to pull the strings of its own mouth up to seem happy. I almost gasped aloud, feeling a heavy wave come over me. The water so thick, so condensed with panic and isolation, I felt as though my lungs were collapsing and I was falling deeper down, unable to see or get a grasp on anything around me.

He put away his coat, and set his briefcase down against the wall. These simple things should have put me at ease, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking along on straw stuffed legs, putting away his coat with cloth-covered hands.

“Sweetie,” I choked out, standing up, “I need to lay down for a little while.”

His reply came back sweet but distant, I was already taking on the stairs two at a time. The following few minutes were a flash of suitcase grabbing and window climbing. My hands, then, clenched tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white. The roads quickly levelled into highways, little yellow lines flashing by under my wheels. I couldn’t relax until hours later, taking a deep breath and turning on the radio. It didn’t feel like too long until the burnt orange sun peeked out above the trees in front of me. I turned off of the highway for the first time all night, and settled in at a little diner. It felt homely, smelling of fresh coffee and bacon. The sun shone through large windows and illuminated the small space in bright yellow light. A waitress beamed and greeted me warmly, leading me to a seat. Everything fell away as I sank into the chair, and I was at ease for the first time in years.