I stand in the doorway and look into the room and I sense, more than see, the crowd of people. I feel the air being pushed around while people walk from one group to another. I feel the heat from the people amassed in the room sweep across my face. I hear the ice clinking against the sides of glasses and the warm, amber liquid sloshing around, every once in a while I hear the sound of a drop hitting the floor. A soothing, gentle hum is created from the multiple conversations about absolutely nothing.
I sense the people, but I do not see them. My eyes sweep over the room and see one person who stands still amidst the madness of movement around him. He wears a black leather trench coat that only goes to his mid-thigh. Yes, he is taller than the average man, less then half a foot between him and being seven feet. His blonde hair has recently been cut, worn short and edges straight just above his collar.
I can’t see them, but i know he wears black ankle boots underneath his pressed jeans, polished so they have a respectable shine. His jacket is unzipped showing the collared, plaid shirt he wears underneath it. He is unadorned with jewelry other than a single brass ring worn on his hand. I wonder if he wears it on his wedding-ring finger, or if it is on his right hand.
My heart starts pounding in my chest and my breath comes short. I start to sweat and tremble just a little. I panic. People are waiting to see me in there, people that I’m looking forward to seeing and so I must go in….but I don’t want to. I don’t want to see him, not because I’m afraid I’m not over him. I don’t want to see him because I’m afraid he’s been long over me.