HER

It's that time of year again.

Last year I mentioned how much I hate Thanksgiving because of the pseudo-happy, cheery shit.

Really, it's because of her.

Thanksgiving 2006. We kissed and I haven't been the same since.

There was one party, once and we were on the porch. She had a pack of Marlboro Reds in one hand a lit cigarette in the other.

She smelled of sweat and perfume, but not in a gross way, in a European way.

I know that sounds weird, but it's true. While studying abroad in college I found that French people of the amazing ability to mingle the scent of sweat with strong perfume in an effortless and sexual way.

That's how she was.

Effortless, beautiful, dark, damaged, rail thin but with a swimmer's shoulders, those shoulders turned towards me.

At 5'11 I towered over her and as she described her latest "gig" (she never had jobs, they were always "gigs"), I swooped down like a hawk and stole from my prey, one kiss.

Her mouth was caught mid sentence, and her blue eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner (from India, she swore!), widened before she pulled me closer. We stood there like that for what felt like hours but was only a few moments.

Her boyfriend, my boyfriend Dan's brother, came through the kitchen. We heard him, disentangled from our gangly embrace, and stared out onto the yard. He came out, called out to her, and she went in to watch the rest of "the game".

Just like that. She was gone.

I broke up with Dan the next day and I have only seen her at her "gigs". Anonymous, in the back of the crowd, flush against the furthest wall, in the darkest corner, watching, knowing she will never be mine.

That's really why I hate Thanksgiving.