A Fascinating Night–Shanna
You sit at the bar, staring into your glass of wine, and wonder why you are there. It’s been a long week at work and although it’s Friday and everyone says you’re supposed to go out on Fridays, you really just want to go home, peel off your work clothes and slide into something comfy. There’s still a few more episodes of the tv show you’ve been watching on Netflix and you’re wondering how it’s all going to end. But somehow you got coerced into coming out for “just one drink” and now you can kick yourself for not sneaking out the other door at the office when no one was looking. The jabbering of the girls you work with, sitting next to you at the bar, makes you wince and you wish sometimes that they would just shut up. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror behind the bar and as you look at your pale, tired face and limp hair, you wonder again why you are there.
And then you see him, and you remember.
You remember the first time you saw him at the bar. It was a few months ago and, much like tonight, you had stopped in to grab a drink at the end of a long week. He was there, playing pool with his friends, and you couldn’t keep your eyes away.
You remember now the reason you agreed to go out to this bar after work was because you hoped to see him again.
He was stunning, he still is stunning, and you feel yourself perk up just from looking at him.
There isn’t anything you can point to that makes him fascinating, in fact you don’t even know him, but he seems to shine in his own ray of light. You watch as he holds court with his friends, everyone hanging on his words, and it’s clear he is the leader of his little faction.
He laughs and you shiver as the sound washes over you. His laugh is like music and you wonder what his real voice sounds like and how it would sound whispering in your ear.
Tonight, he’s playing pool again and you think he must play here often. He’s made all his shots so far and his friends are ribbing him because they haven’t had the chance to play yet. You watch him in the mirror as he leans down to take his shot, the pool cue stick gliding gracefully through his hands, and you wonder what it would be like to have his hands glide over your body.
You look as he takes a sip of his beer and notice he’s wearing a black pin-striped suit, with a white shirt and red tie. He’s left the suit jacket hanging over the back of his chair and rolled his shirt sleeves up. You watch as his forearms flex as he handles the cue stick again and you’re glad that he’s rolled up his sleeves tonight. The contrast between his white shirt and tan arms is almost blinding and makes the silver watch on his wrist stand out more. His hair flops around his ears and as he casually flips his head to keep it out of his face you wonder if his hair is as soft as it looks and you realize you want to run your fingers through that mop.
You smile as you remember what occurred the last time you saw him at the bar. You had gotten up to use the ladies’ room and had casually walked past him on the way. The bar was crowded and you took the opportunity to walk a little nearer him on the pretext of getting away from the crowd. Your arms had barely touched and you were close enough to notice his green eyes and he smelled so good. You wanted to crawl up his chest and arms and bury your nose in his neck.
You watch him and think he’s so different from all the other boys you’ve known. Growing up in the outskirts of town, all those boys cared about was getting some ass and who had the bigger car. You could never be bothered with those boys, as you knew you were destined for something greater. And then it hits you that this guy is not a boy, he’s a man, and you want to know all about him more.
The bartender asks if you’d like another drink and you realize you’ve drank all of your wine without noticing. You look at her and shake your head no. As the bartender walks away, you look back up into the mirror but the pool table is empty and he’s gone. You sigh and think you might as well call it a night. As much as you’ve enjoyed looking at him the entire night, you’re still a little tired and those comfy clothes and your bed are creeping to the front of your mind. You bend down to grab your purse and, when you stand up, he standing there next to you.
Up close, he’s even more beautiful. His eyes are greener than you saw, and his suit more expensive that you thought.
You think that, in all your 22 years, he’s the most fascinating person you’ve even seen. You swear you can hear your heart stutter when he smiles at you and your mouth goes dry as he leans in. You are mesmerized by his lips when he says, “Are those space pants? Because your ass is out of this world.”
You lean back and frown, wondering if you heard him correctly. He looks at you, smiling, and you notice his voice is kind of high pitched and he has a sort of drawl, nothing like you imagined. In fact, you think it kind of sounds like how your old friends sound when they get high and think everything is hilarious.
He bends nearer and whispers in your ear, “Can I have your picture so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?”
You cringe and realize that as fascinating as he may seem, you don’t want him whispering in your ear or whispering near any part of your body. You look at him and suddenly you see those same boys you grew up with, just in a pretty package. And you realize that you may have moved to a new place and grown up but those boys are still the same.
You smile sadly at what could have been, pull your purse over your arm, and walk out the door. You can hear your bed calling your name.