No one understood why I was with him. And no, logically it didn't make any sense. He was the epitome of a man going no where and I was driven by every ambition one could dream up. But looking back on it, that is probably the reason why I wanted to be with him in the first place.
I remember the moment I met him. Honestly, I didn't think he was real. It felt like he had pulled from the pages of a novice's screen play, trying to create the perfect bad boy persona, complete with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a odd tattoo on the side of his neck. He had no interest in anyone around him. And if he did, it was fleeting at best. He was perfectly content chaining smoking on the terrace, his glazed over eyes simply watching the people milling by. Not the people at the party, but the people below on the sidewalk, in their cars, or entering the buildings across the street. No, the party was just a source of free booze for him. And the host was a friend, so he was obligated to show up.
He would come inside only to grab another drink, quickly finish up the small talk and hand shakes he was forced into, and make his way back out onto the terrace. I was one of the few who was shoved in his face during his infrequent appearance amidst the rest of us party goers. I could see it in his face. The moment I left his sight he would forget everything that had left my lips. So I didn't waste his time. I smiled, shook his hand, kissed his cheek and let him go back to his solitary bliss. I never thought we would ever see each other again after that night. I was wrong.
Many parties, drinks and cigarettes later, I did see him again. Things had changed and this time it was me trying to get away from everyone and everything else. My life had become a series of loud noises, chaos and the overwhelm swirl of always chasing after something. I just wanted to get away from everything. But I didn't know how. He saw me. I saw him. We didn't say anything. He simply walked over and handed me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke."
"That's a shame. Let's change that."
We puffed away, watching people together in silence, huddled in a dark corner of that noisy room, flocked with bad dancers, drinking games, and bass so loud the floor vibrated under my feet. With his cigarette finished and glass drained, he stood up and grabbed my hand. And though I had no idea where he was taking me, I simply went. Why? I don't know. And I still don't.
In all the time I have been around him, I never see him rush. I never see him worry. I do not believe he even owns an alarm clock. I don't know where he goes in the morning, because he doesn't know either until he gets there. And he is simply content with just that. He chases after nothing, just merely exists from one day to the next. He is bound by and bound to nothing. And while most talk about doing what I would deem outrageous, he simply does it.
Why am I with him? It is because I am jealous of him. It is because I live vicariously through his disconnection with everything that we feel is "important". I am with him because I want to be him. And the closest I can get is to sit on balconies and smoke while watching others mill about below me.
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