Reading Day 8
The Androgyne: an ode to myself, my friends and my recent exEJR #monologue, #letter, #love, #communication
Jules I met you in a bar, just shortly after I met a mutual friend of ours. I had just moved to the city and worked day and night at the restaurant to try and make ends meet in my involuntary gap year. I knew no one in the city, just the few people I shared a student house with who had mainly been art students. I quit my university, studying earth sciences had not been as glamorous as I had expected it to be. In my naive 17 year old brain, I thought I would be off to foreign countries in no time, taking soil samples with the hope to switch to archeology at some point. So to keep myself busy and meet new people, in the few free hours I had to spare, I just hung out at bars. Usually getting too drunk and ending up in strangers beds, to then arrive at work late the next morning. I had just known our mutual friend for a week, a flamboyant fine art student called Leroy who seemed to be friends with everyone, when he asked me to go out with him. We went to this scruffy bar where they played Robin and served ridiculously cheap cocktails. I quickly lost Leroy as he went, as I now know, his usual social butterflying way. Alone in this bar, which was too crowded, too noisy, the music too loud, the smell of just grown-out-of-puberty-but-not-completely sweat hanging in the air, I scanned the room for other vaguely familiar faces. That’s when I saw you. You were in the middle of the improvised dance floor, your dark blond hair slicked back in your then iconic wet look, piercing blue eyes, a row of silver rings in your ears, a butchy heavy-chain resembling necklace, sharp jawline, black clothes, meshy top, platform boots. You had a subtle, nonchalant, coolness about you. You drew me in with your eyes. You introduced yourself. I was in a trance. You could feel my displacement, my newness, my youth. You asked me if I wanted to go outside to smoke a cigarette with you. I obliged. You took me by the hand as we moved outside and swiftly touched my hip when we exited through the door. You asked me if I was new to the city and I told you my story, of feeling lonely, of feeling estranged. Not knowing what my future would bring, feeling sad and useless working as a waitress, having too little time to reflect. Too many lovesick nights, too many one night stands turned into accidental crushes, too much shit. You comforted me, we smoked another, you bought me drinks, you looked deep into my eyes with a calming certainty that everything was going to be alright. You are young, you have time, you seemed to be wanting to tell me, or imprint on me. We danced until I got tired. You asked me if I wanted to com home with you to drink a cup of tea. You lived on the highest part of town, overlooking the city and the train station. Your house was a dream filled with tasteful vintage furniture, curious ceramic objects, books and with your own and friends photographic work hanging on the wall. We drank tea and talked for hours until sunrise. You asked me if I wanted to stay over. We slept in your bed, spooning but barely touching. I could feel your heart beating through your shirt, your chest, against my back.
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