Story inspired by The Cure's Out of this World

"One last time before it's over
One last time before the end..."

Why is it just before the flame turns blue did I want to feel her one last time? What was I thinking? It's not like it would have changed anything. She standing there nervously is trying to get away with her words. It's as if she's attempting to untangle herself from our expired love. She kept her head done not waiting me to see her tears stained mascara on her wandering eyes. I just wanted us to go back there where it started with her with nothing else but skin, breaths, kisses and everything else that we adored in the dark.

I knew it was over but all I wanted was one last time to feel her again. I admit, back then I actually believed if we had one last time, it would change everything. It would only suspend the inevitable, only slightly but she would still want to get away, as far away from me and my overpowering devotion that swallowed her whole and didn't allow her to breathe.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

I nodded no. In my head I did mind her constant nicotine fixes. It reminded me what another ex told me about my smoking back in college when she refused to kiss me. She told me, "No one likes kissing an ashtray." And she was right.

One of my favorites was kissing another lover after she drank some wine. Her mouth taste so sweet. I loved kissing her. But there's something about cigarette breath that's anything but sexy.

I used to think it was sexy. I used to carry an extra cigarette lighter when I lived in New Orleans. It was an antique one that I inherited from my abuelo when he died. There was an inscription on the lighter, it read, "Behind her smoke is your answer." I never forgot that as I would light cigarettes from enticing beauties that would end up seducing each other from the French Quarter bar where we would meet.

But there's nothing sexy about the way she held the cigarette towards my direction. All I tasted was her smoke. It's as if she's trying to magically burn away any feelings we had between us with her cigarette.

I could barely see through the darkness. Did I really ever see her at all? There was just shadows and doubt on her face. I tried to look away. It was like we were at a firing range except she was our executioner. I did not want to believe. All I could do was watch the end burning away. It was like an hourglass timer. I imagined that our relationship had an expiration date. When the cigarette ended so was our love. I became panicked.

"What's wrong?" She asked with a sly smile.

She knew. She knew me better than anyone at that time. From all the times we sat in the car with my mix-tapes playing as I tried to convince her not to leave, I always closed my reasons with a kiss. The kiss sealed the deal. It usually ended up with us in the backseat and the music serenading us. The song that reflects these moments back to me is "Out of this World." It was as if time froze when I was inside her. Nothing mattered just watching her climax with her hair in my face and her hands forcing my head back. I loved every second of us together.

And then there was the morning after. The dreaded wake-up when I would roll over and she would have this disgusted look on her face. She would cover up her chest as she put on a shirt. It was as if she didn't want my eyes seeing her body naked anymore. This was after we spent another night devouring each other in bed.

She never said much. She just reached over by the window and lit her cigarette. With inhale of smoke created an even menacing scowl on her face. Did she feel deceived? It was around this time she would go in the other room and wait for me to get up and have the talk again. The same conversation I found myself, fast forward, in at that moment. It was as if we came full circle. Back to the end, from the moment we first kissed till now it was over.

"Are you going to say something?"

I just stood there staring at her cigarette.

"You want one?"

I nodded my head, no.

"Is this the way it's going to end?"

"No." I replied as I made my way over to her. My eyes passed clouds of smoke as I stood in front of her. It felt like I was walking in slow motion like a scene in the movies. I waited for the strings to appear as I made my way closer to her. She seemed nervous as if my next move was expected. But before I could lean in and kiss her. She stopped me with her cold hand on my lips.

"No." She replied. "Let's not do this."

"Why?"

"You know why. It will make it much harder. We've tried it your way, over and over again. It doesn't work."

"One last time, doesn't work?"

"You don't want one last time. You want us to keep going. Like a car almost out of gas."

"We can make it…" I started to say but she leaned over and kissed me. It was a rough quick kiss that I wasn't prepared for. It was a kiss to say adios. Farewell. Sayonara. No mas.

"We did it. It's done."

And just like that she was right. I felt it like a shock. A moment of clarity inside of her smoke filled kiss of forgetfulness might have just worked on me. It happened. At that moment, I realized, we were over.

"When we look back at it all, as I'm sure we will, I wonder if we'll really remember how it feels to be this alive." I asked her.

"I have a feeling, you won't forget." was her reply as if she was answering a question at an exit interview without emotion, regret but with a hint of relief.

And with that she dropped her cigarette. She put it out with her black heel and walked towards her car. I remember the sound of her heels on the pavement as she looked for her keys in her purse. I wondered why she even carried a purse, she kept everything crumpled up and buried in her pocket anyway. She was always losing things. She may have lost us along the way. Who knows?

As I watched there in front of her muddy car, inside I knew she was already gone. No more of me running after her and professing my devotion to her. There was nothing left to say. She left out of this world and into my memory where I would ponder the reasons we lingered together for this long. Maybe the song will have an answer for me. Our flashbacks continue to this day. Will I ever learn? Maybe, someday.

©A.E.C. 2009