First Day Of My Life

She slides through the room in a hypnotizing groove, as if she was guided by Hendrix’s guitar or Mercury’s voice. The harmony between her movements and the smoke that goes up from her cigarette held between her thin fingers is worthy of a Van Gogh painting.

I can feel my blood pulsating all over my body. I feel the glass of bourbon vibrating in my hand. I feel my heart in my mouth.

She smiles while dragging her tobacco carefully rolled by herself while the speakers sing a Stones song and I get stoned by the joint passed to be a while ago.

Her blue eyes and my red ones meet for a fraction of a second. The first second of the rest of my life, I think to myself. Was that a smile? I’ll never know.

The house is full of high people, drunk people, vomiting people, people people and animal people. I don’t give a shit, nothing matters, only that mysterious dancer being hugged by the smoke coming out from cigarettes and joints. And how I envy that smoke that can shamelessly touch her…

I close my eyes for a few seconds, letting myself be taken by the music, I let Keith’s guitar control me. When I come back to reality, she’s not there anymore.

“Hi.” A voice says beside me. A soft voice, but one that gives me chills.

And here she is, seated by my side, legs crossed inside a leather mini skirt and tall black boots. The handmade cigarette being smoked by the corner of her mouth, stained by the blood red lipstick. She lets the smoke go and doesn’t stop staring at me for one single second.

“Do you want eye drops? Your eyes are really red.” She asks before I could say hi back.

“No need, it’s not like anyone around here gave a shit, right?” I manage to say, gesticulating at people around us who seem to be in a whole other dimension.

“Yeah, you’re right. But that’s the problem nowadays, innit? No one cares about what really matters.” She starts. “We care about left wing and right wing, heroes and terrorists, Manchester United and Manchester City. Be we don’t care about ourselves.”

“You included?” I ask, falling harder in love with her.

“Of course, I’m here fucking up my liver with cheap vodka, my lungs with cigarette and my brain cells with LSD. And I do it willfully.” She says with a flirtatious smile.

“But maybe you do all that because you value yourself.” I say.

“What do you mean?” She asks frowning in confusion. Getting her attention gives me gas to go on.

“I don’t know, maybe you just realized that it’s more important to live a wide life than a long one. That all these elements make you feel good. Fuck it that they’re only good to numb the pain sometimes, it helps anyway. Maybe the LSD you took is the only way to release the chemicals in your brain that make you feel happiness. Maybe the same goes to the weed I’ve been smoking. And all of that helps to forget that there are left wing, right wing or fucking terrorits and that’s why we’re all together here. It wouldn’t happen any other way.” I finish, proud of my impromptu little speech.

“Like Carpe Diem?” She asks laughing. I laugh back.

“Yeah, I tried to put that in a less corny way, but that’s the message, seize the day.”

“OK, I will then.” She says before kissing me.

The taste of her vodka, my bourbon, the cigarette and the joint mix into something sweet and sour at the same time.

I wake up alone in the spare room. I look around. A message in the mirror is written with blood red lipstick.

“I’m sorry about leaving, but today is another day.”

Like what you read? Give Rapha Fucciolo a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.