"Don't apologize," she said gently. "I like your vibe."
The compliment was abrupt and unlike the others I’d received recently, and I did react to this one; I scoffed. My vibe? I didn't have a vibe. “Vibe” seemed like a descriptive word they slap on you in high school, tacked onto a clique or subculture. Goth vibe. Punk vibe. Jock vibe.
I don’t have a vibe. I'm just me. Vibeless Blake.
"Okay," I replied flatly. My tone should've thwarted her, should’ve ended the conversation, but instead, she smiled brightly as she asked, "Will you please stay for a drink?"
"I really have to get home," I insisted, but my resolve was fading with the strength of her hope.
"Just one, I promise. I have a poem I'd really like you to hear."
"So, a drink and a poem?" I narrowed my eyes and looked toward the stairs I'd just come from. This seemed like a bad idea. Nothing good was ever going to come from this. I'd told the good doctor as much countless times, and now I was telling myself. This was bad, but she felt good, and I wondered if I could afford to let a little bit of that into my life. Just for tonight. Just to see how it felt to do something selfish, for myself.
Just once.
***
"Girls, I want you to meet Mister Blake Carson."
Two blonde women wearing pastels and flashing pearly white teeth turned to face me. Their broad smiles wilted slightly at the sight of my exterior, and I'd be lying if I said the feeling wasn't painfully mutual. If I'd known I would be sharing a drink with the Stepford Wives, I might have declined.
"Blake, these are my cousins and best friends, Regina and Nicole." Audrey pointed to each of the ladies, and with each introduction, they waved with waggling fingers.
"Nice to meet you," I said, not yet sure if I was lying.
Audrey's hand lifted and laid against my leather clad bicep. I glanced down to her smooth, porcelain skin and white-tipped fingernails, stark against the black backdrop of my jacket. The gesture was friendly, strictly platonic, but again, all I could wonder was, why the hell would she want to spend any time with me?
"We're just going to the bar to grab a drink and then we'll be back. Can I get you girls a refill?"
"Water for me," Nicole answered. She turned to Regina and drawled, "I'll pretend it's wine while you guys enjoy yourselves."
"Tell David to keep his dick to himself and you won't get knocked up again," Regina quipped dryly before regarding Audrey. "What are you drinking?"
"Oh, I don't really know ..." Audrey shrugged. "I was thinking maybe a, uh—"
"Oh, come on, Audrey." Nicole snorted, lifting her almost-empty glass of water to her lips. "We all know you're just gonna order another Manhattan."
Regina's gaze met mine. "She only started drinking like, a year ago, and all she knows to order is a Manhattan."
Audrey laughed lightheartedly through her embarrassment, wearing her blush with pride. "I led a very sheltered life, okay?"
"Jeez, it wasn't that sheltered. You went away to college, for crying out loud," Nicole shot back, eyes wide and glinting with laughter.
"And I spent the whole time studying!" Audrey's defense was shrill and coated with laughter. I wasn't sure at what point I began to smile, but now I was grinning and really relaxing in the company of these women I'd just met.
"What are you getting, Blake?" Regina asked.
"Oh, uh," the sound of my name caught me off guard and I collected my thoughts, "I'll probably get a Sam Adams."
"I've never had one of those," Audrey admitted, tipping her head in a way that made her look so innocent.
"You haven't had one of anything," Nicole grumbled with an eye roll.
"Except a Manhattan," Regina added pointedly.
I smiled at Audrey's cousins before turning to her. "It's a lager. It's, uh ..." I shrugged. "It's a little crisper compared to beer." Audrey's cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink and I assessed, "You've never had beer before."
"Winner, winner, chicken dinner," Regina answered, poking at Audrey's side. "Sam Adams sounds good. I'll have one of them."
I walked with Audrey to the bar at the back of the club. She glanced at me with an apologetic glare and said, "Sorry about them."
I waved it off. "They’re fine."
The bartender sauntered over and asked, "What can I get ya?"
Before Audrey could speak, I answered, "Two Sam Adams, a water, and a Man—"
"Make that three Sam Adams," Audrey interrupted with an assertive lift of her head. When she caught my curious glance, she simply said, "It's a night for trying new things."
I found it funny how little she knew about me and how out of left field this all was, and yet, she could utter a statement so true. Hell, this entire day had been about embracing situations outside of my comfort zone. It was nice, exciting even, and I was already dreading Monday morning, when my usual routine would commence.
But that was over a day away. Right now, I was here, with the woman bearing the very tattoo that had haunted me for over a week. This was nothing more than a delightful coincidence, presented to me amidst the chaos of my life, and I made the choice to just enjoy it. Whatever it was, and whatever came from it. Because it was one night, that was all, and living my life for myself for one night wouldn't kill me.
When the bartender brought over our drinks, I lifted a glass to her and said, "To trying new things."
Audrey lifted hers warily, eyeing the lager within, as she clinked the glass against mine. "To trying new things."
***
Audrey walked toward the mic without trepidation, owning the stage with light. I couldn't remember the poem she had read the week before—wasn't it something about a flower? A dandelion, maybe? It annoyed me now that I couldn't remember it in the same way I couldn't get that damn butterfly out of my head. But something whispering in my heart told me it was unlikely I'd forget what she was about to read tonight. This poem, whatever it was, would remind me forever of that one time I stepped outside the lines and permitted myself to live.
"Hi, everyone," Audrey practically sang to the crowd. "I call this one New Skin."
She cleared her throat and took the sheet of paper from her pocket. Then, she read.
This skin is mine.
A gift from my mother,
My father,
From God.
One size fits me,
And no one else.
It has burned,
It has paled,
It has protected,
And it has failed.
It has grown,
It has shrunk,
But what have I done for it?
This gift, my skin,
What have I given,
When it's given so much?
Think, I think, think some more.
The answer is obvious,
The answer is her,
The missing half to my duo.
A little pain, a little time,
And now, thanks to him,
I am whole again,
A patchworked person,
Of new skin and old.
The room murmured with approval and applause as Audrey bowed graciously and slipped from the stage. Nicole and Regina nodded, smiling with pride, as their hands clapped. I should've applauded her. I should've done something, anything, to express a hint of acknowledgment, yet I couldn't. I was stunned and startled, in complete awe over her ability to write something so profound about skin of all things. And then there was the mention of—I'm assuming here—me, and that shook my heart so much, I looked beyond the mention of God.