A Ride Back Home

By Keshee Patel

I stood in a half-light on the edge of my parking,

Wondering: how he would be looking.

would he like me in the dress that I was wearing,

My heart was pounding as the clock was ticking.

He showed up shortly, riding the most stylish bike,

In a solid black shirt with denim jeans, suiting the hype.

To not show my emotions, I had to psych,

Before sitting behind him, since the previous rides were unlike.

He looked into my eyes so deep down, longer than a while,

It took me some time to return him a soft smile.

He asked me to hop on, taking the bag from my hand in style,

A wave of emotions sat in my heart in a pile.

I could be his friend, a colleague, or a samosa partner,

Time seemed to fly by when we were together.

But a little touch of putting my hand on his shoulder, 

Made me breathe deeper and turned my palms colder.

At the party, I couldn’t help but stare occasionally,

How beautiful was his smile and how he danced freely.

Even if I was busy talking to others discreetly,

My eyes couldn’t help but spot him keenly.

One by one, everyone left except the two of us,

He didn’t care about the crowd or if they made a fuss.

  The alcohol in me made me spin and feel the buzz,

All I wanted was to go home, and it was just.

I stare at my watch while sitting in his front chair,

He dances as if no one is going to care,

And he makes me laugh like no tomorrow’s there. 

Late after midnight, alone with him, but I didn’t scare.

He, being a gentleman, understood my anxiety,

Promised to take me home, concerned about my safety.

But alcohol hits one without any guarantee,

I couldn’t stop laughing as everything seemed comedy.

I laughed my heart out, leaning on his thigh,

He placed his hands on my head, and I didn’t need to specify.

My head kept spinning, yet I was abstinent enough to feel shy,

He slid a bit away from me so that he could dignify.

I stood up in a hurry, getting a blood rush in my head,

It would be wrong to say I stood because I stumbled instead.

Being there next to me, he held my hand to support and protect,

My thin, long fingers between his enormous hands felt perfect.

In those few minutes to reach the exit, I got butterflies,

 Walking behind him, thinking why he shouldn’t be my choice.

It turned out that there was no reason that I could memorise,

 Because he had always been there in my truths and my lies.

I sat behind him, not caring about the distance in between,

My eyes tend to close and my head wanted a spin.

I grabbed his shirt from the sides, nice and clean,

Wind touching my face, it all felt like a dream.

 Leaving behind the shyness, I rested my head on his shoulder,

Fading away the head spins, feeling the breeze of October.

He drove at a slow speed, to make me feel better,

Which I felt, and I hoped that the ride would last forever.

I could smell his perfume and the iron of his shirt,

The closeness between us was a result of his constant effort.

Although he was drunk, he was still alert,

To avoid the stares of midnight roaming perverts.

I wanted it to last longer but the ride ended soon,

We were again in the parking, standing under the full moon.

He woke me from my dream, gently tapping on my hand in tune,

I didn’t want but I had to leave my little cocoon.

As I walked towards my home, I turned back to look once more,

He was still there, his smile looked crystal pure.

His eyes were eager to say something, maybe, a ride back home, once more.

By Keshee Patel