'If I Ever Lose Myself In You' - Sting

I went to the party. I went alone. He didn’t want to attend…again. He didn’t like my friends. I don’t think he particularly cared for me either, but we were married and he made do.

There were lots of people there. Shelly had outdone herself; hired a piano player and a bartender to entertain and lighten the load. I got there. I’d forgotten who everyone was. I busied myself lighting the tea lights that covered every spare inch of counter top, table and sill. People began arriving, piano and ice tinkled in the background. Appetizers were pulled from the oven and refrigerator; the night began in earnest. Shelly checked in and asked if I was having a good time. “Absolutely”, I replied and made a beeline towards the restroom. There was a line. I smoothed back my hair which was pulled back in a high pony tail. Me, in my black, velvet jacket and dark leggings suddenly felt garish and out of place amid the tall, lithe women with their short skirts and shiny straight hair. The bar was set up by the loo. I asked for a drink. “Sure. What’ll you have?” The young and striking bartender asked. “I’m not sure.” I answered. “What’s good?” He offered to make me a margarita. I accepted. The line inched along and he and I started to talk. How did he know Shelly, I asked. And he told me they had met in school. He was handsome, a bit younger than me. The line to the bathroom got shorter. I thanked him for the drink and excused myself.

The night progressed. The piano player packed his things and left. Someone turned on the stereo, cued up some CDs. Sting was in the mix, Ten Summoner’s Tales. I had wound my way back in and out of conversations with the guests, back to the bar. How was the margarita, how was the party, he wanted to know. And I started talking to him. Conversation turned to music and he told me about his studies in music, about his side jobs as a roadie, including being on the Road with Sting himself. I got lost in the conversation; forgot that I was unsure and awkward to be at a party by myself, babies sleeping at home, a husband who didn’t want to be there. I smiled and laughed, excused myself to check on the guests.

The party was winding down. People started to clear out. I hung out, stayed around until the end to help Shelly with the clean up. I don’t even know how it happened. I barely can remember. The bartender was packing up his wares, cleaning off the bar. We talked all the while. Laughed, shared jokes. He was leaving, did I want to join him. “Oh, no thank you” I said. “My husband’s at home.”

“A hug then. It was really nice talking to you”

He wrapped his arms around me. God, I can still remember how he smelled, how he felt. I was so starved for affection, for conversation, for anything from a man. He tried to kiss me. I pulled away. I was married.

If I ever could lose myself though…