Feather in his Cap
by Rochelle Bourgault

I felt the camera on me, and for whatever reason, I decided to plant the kiss. It looks like I’m rolling my eyes, or half-assing it. It’s less damning than you might think. The eye roll was not deliberate. I just felt self-conscious. We don’t know each other that well.

I love how steadily he is looking into the camera. It’s almost as though he is saying to you, “This is all me.” I remember that his sweatshirt was very soft beneath my hands. It was made from that type of weatherbeaten cotton that feels vintage but was made in Vietnam three weeks ago. He pushed his sleeves up all night; they kept slouching down, and it was warm in the showroom. He was all ease. I secretly wanted the hat to go. But we had met a few weeks before at another show, and he had such a melodic voice, just talking. That eye contact that he’s making with the camera? That’s what he does to you, too, the first time he meets you. It’s a conversational page turner; you just want to hear what he’s going to say next.

That night, I saw him with one of the musicians, this gorgeous woman with short, wild hair, and he was doing the quicksand thing, pulling her in slowly, steadily, and I could see her eating up the attention. It was funny, it made him look vulnerable to me. Does that make sense? Instead of feeling like, “Shit, I am expendable,” I thought, “This is how he is; it is as natural as breathing for him. He needs the attention.” That plus the hat — I saw him 15 years younger, for a moment, unsure but charming.

My kiss, though? Just an act for the camera.