Flashbacks

Fast forward.

It's been close to three weeks since I returned from Vegas. Things are significantly different now. Consider the details forthcoming.

I sit in the dark and try to find a place worthy of starting. A friendly, warm (albeit restless), body lays adjacent to my chilly feet. Her head is buried face down in a pillow. Her naked back strokes my imagination. Sitting Indian-style, back against the cold wall of my bedroom, I close my eyes tight and try to remember the little things.

We're listening to whatever my computer decides is right for the time. This time it chose Goldfinger. The empowering lyrics stir up energy in my finger tips and I type harder. My eyelid twitches from sleep deprivation. It's been a long week.

It's been raining all day. The sound of it falling outside has kept me in a constant state of naive bliss. A deep breath later and I'm covered in goose-bumps.

---

Joe and I float by three casinos and end up at the Mirage. It's crowded. I feel like I just walked into a cage full of monkeys. My company looks lost but I follow him anyway. The gentle smirk on his face tells me that we'll end up where we're supposed to be one way or another.

I love this shit. Makes me feel like a spelunker, exploring some massive cave. We pause and survey the giant stalactites of neon and chrome.

Before long we find ourselves in a jungle. Instead of ferns and fauna, we brush by tables and cocktails. There's a band playing. The lead singer is splashed in a sexy red light. Her words slap the microphone like it was a playful lover. For a moment I'm completely hypnotized. Joe goes on ahead to the bar, no doubt hunting for a gin and tonic.

I break free from the siren's song and spot an empty table on the other bank of an indoor stream. Joe finds me minutes later and sits down, holding his drink like it was a trophy. An unexpected smile finds it's way to the surface of my face. For the first time in weeks I feel something. Skipping right past the comparably mundane spectrum of emotion, I fall face first into euphoria.

Looking across the table at Joe I suddenly find myself fourteen again, sitting at a lunch table in a crowded cafeteria. He's sitting there eating something his mom likes to call a brick sandwich. It could feed a small country. Joe sinks his mouth into his meal and motions toward my last Oreo cookie.

As he takes a single monstrous swig off his milk, the carton goes transparent, the cafeteria dark, and the lunch ladies turn into cocktail waitresses.

Another nostalgia laced deep breath. Another drink. Another smoke.