"It is the Tale, not he who tells it."
Stephen King - 1982

(Nota: Todas estas histórias estão devidamente registadas na Inspecção Geral das Actividades Culturais. Não que passe pela cabeça de alguém interessar-se em roubar seja lá o que for, mas pelo menos fica o desclaimer.)

Part II

"A lot of our mutual friends were there, and also a lot of people that I never saw, which was good. Generally we never get to know a lot of new people in our daily routine, so that scenario suited me just fine. And for someone without any kind of relationship for almost a year, give or take, it seemed even better. It’s hard to know women in a big town like Lisbon, and it’s no use making a big effort. It all comes down to chance and wishful thinking.

It’s common place to say that the love of our life emerges like Poseidon out of the sea. We are supposed to feel a big bang, and all sorts of theories about love at first site and how the flirt was always different with that person are created. Late night drunk stories are created, and that’s one of the first things that grandchildren hear when they stop long enough to hear a story. Well, I got nothing of the sort. I noticed a brunette with dark eyes on the other side of the table, and find myself surprised by the fact that she was smiling at me. Later on that smile would prove to be the reason for every third of my written words , but at that time it just seemed… different. As if she poured light from her face. There was something wild in her gaze tough. More strange than wild I guess, but disquieting nonetheless.

The chattering went as usual in such parties. We giggled, some risked a political discussion that turned a bit sour five minutes later, almost every single person flirted, or at least looked around to see if there was any chance of enticement. Experience tells me that although we put great hopes in such get-togethers, generally we wind up taking what’s most available. It’s kind of a previous investigation. We snoop around and find a scent. From there on we never know where that lead will take us, and the games begin.
Suddenly the noise seems too loud. Crowds can do that to me, somehow. Throw me in a state of absence within the confusion, like I’m playing a cameo role. Especially when I’m focused on something that sparks and gets my attention.
We kept on exchanging looks, lingering in our respective seats, chatting with other people. Our eyes, however, always returned to a strategic point. And she smiled. A little crooked, but smart and shinny smile. She had a quiet way about herself, al least apparently, but I wondered what was hidden inside that unruffled poise. I guess everyone feels that when they’re about to meet someone they begin to fancy, but it seemed somehow different this time. When she got up and went to the bathroom, I stared at her breasts, and hoped she didn’t notice. My birthday friend slapped me in the back and told me that the girl in question was unattached, but apparently wasn’t all there from time to the time. He called her odd, but I could sense in his words that she was probably a nut case, which explained the intensity and mixed nature of that wild smiling gaze. She was a classic semi nut case, and that somehow only allured me to go a little further. She seemed to have something to say, and also very nice breasts. That was my first mental picture of her nakedness. Many more would eventually follow, with the most variety of results you can imagine. But let’s not go there.

The party went on and soon it was over. We decided to go to a club and dance for a while. We continued our eye contact, but no word was spoken for quite sometime. I thought we chose to do it that way, but that wasn’t really true. I later found out that we had no choice, at least as far as beginnings are concerned.
That’s why we approached each other on the dance floor, tried to do something that remotely resembled care free dancing, and decided to toss away words. We had a few drinks and left the place. My birthday friend told me she had a screw loose, but I didn’t care. Love, or what stands for a beginning of the concept, or any of it’s bigger or lesser forms, is defined by the embrace shared by the lack of complete logic and fearlessness. I never believed, as I said, in the so called love at first site. I guess I’m still trying to determine if it exists at a third or a tenth sight, or at all. But the freedom to feel is exactly that. We each give our definition to something so omnipresent, and usually ( and luckily) it’s incomplete. At that time I didn’t know what was happening, but I had no need for that enlightenment. Some things are best left unsaid, especially if you are not sure of what you’re doing.
We went to her place. She lived alone in a lovely old building, lost inside the Bairro Alto. The stairs creaked bellow my feet, and seemed to complain about that kind commotion at four a.m. The elevator had stop working the week before, so we climbed the five floors in a hasty pace. Her silence started to get to me, but the excitement was too good to be questioned, even if I had no idea of where I was going."

(to be continued)