The story

Observe.

Observe carefully as they speak, and move their hands, and shake their heads. Observe their lips and eyes. Carefully. The flicker-- you noticed the flicker? Look more carefully next time-- it's more obvious than they think it is. The cheeks give away too. The cheeks, usually fat and chubby, are crinkly today, wrinkly like the cheeks of a forty-two-year old new mother. What's happening, you ask? Just watch, events unravel themselves.

As you see, the hands clasp and unclasp and clasp back The fingers snake around themselves, popping sometimes, and cross each other. Notice they don't go into the pockets to check for cell phones or watches. Notice they don't go into the purses for handheld mirrors. The fingers are there, entwined with each other.

Did you feel that, the gust of wind, that blew hairs away? It was more than a cheesy cinematic effect, or a deux et machina to give the story away before there is one. The story  doesn't exist. Yet. It's being written. Be patient, and you will read it. You don't know which story you're looking at, but you know it's a story happening because you can feel the energy. The surge of excitement that you feel...yes, that's the energy overflowing from a story happening. Your and our lives, they're all only lives, what we live is our lives. But this, happening here right now, that's a story. Their lives are stories. The feeling of strangeness and suspense that you feel deep in your heart right now is the affect of the strength of the stories.

Be patient. The twirl of the non-existent mustache could mean a lot more than you see. And the asymmetrical smiles on both sets of lips-- what's that? Is it genuine humor, or forced humor, or does it even have to do anything with humor at all? The sculpted forehead looks sweaty now, as you can see, even plasticky. I feel it's going to melt anytime soon-- do you feel that? Feel the tension-- the heat of the story is building up. It's not the talk-- conversations are irrelevant... it's the story that's raising the heat. You don't hear anything, but you see the lips and the eyes and the foreheads, and that is enough. Enough for the story to be told. You miss the details, but that's okay. Pay attention here.

Why, what strange turn did our story just take. An extended invitation, accepted, it seems. Or perhaps a self-invitation, unappreciated. Quick, both their eyes now, caught that moment, did you? The wide-eyed look, yes? That's important. That was our story. Everything else is irrelevant.

Two more invitations extended. And accepted. They are moving to a new location. You know where it is... you caught it on their lips. But the emotions aren't their anymore. The power is decreasing...it's going down. Soon, it'll be barely distinguishable from life. It won't seem like a story anymore.

But don't be fooled. Every story has an ebb, a flow. The story is ebbing down, taking a rest, showing you just the parts that matter. You won't see the life parts of the story because there's not enough energy in the story to sustain our interest. Now they are gone, all of them to the Afghan restaurant. They will enjoy, and it will become a tale, but that won't be a story in itself. The story has begun, and to follow it, we must separate it from every other story there is.

Partly inspired by my self-invitation into Abu..'s and X...'s date, which turned a date into a party of six.