what can i do to make you happy? she said. i remember it like it was yesterday. her voice, warm and clear, saying those words... the darkness and the smoke... the smell of spilled beer, indistinct perfumes and burnt cigarettes. in all my existence she was the first to ask me plainly that simple question. and, probably for that reason, I was completely unprepared to answer. I didn’t knew what to say... I didn’t knew what I needed.. now I know but then... I was numb. or so I remember... perhaps I was only too nervous to answer... afraid of being honest about what I needed from her. perhaps I didn’t thought her to be honest about it, thinking maybe it was just a joke.. like something you say to pull someone from his mind stroll.
what could she do to make me happy? back then a smile wouldn’t have been enough.. i’d seen her smile pretty often... I got used to that trick. it worked for awhile, but not anymore. a kiss would’ve had a more lasting effect... but without some emotional pledge to go with it would’ve been soon forgotten. maybe a stare would’ve worked.. o long gaze from those magnificent dark eyes straight into my own and right down the bottom of my shitty little soul... a gaze like the one I’d gave her and others all night, like an x-ray trying to pick-up hidden feelings, unwanted emotions or dangerous, cancerous thoughts.
i should’ve said to her: look at me. stare at me for 5 seconds... and then ask her if she really meant to make me happy for those 5 seconds... her answer would’ve been enlightening. like a death sentence. killing me and releasing me in the same time... yeah, it would’ve been a much more inspired proposition than the one I’ve actually uttered. the one that resulted in a handjob and one last round of beers, courtesy of my caring companion. what can I say... life’s full of empty bottles and ashtrays filled with happy regrets...
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