Close Encounters with the Handsome Kind

How did over a week go by without a post?! That's what happens when you're under the weather and busy at work! Since it's been a bit, I'm going to hit you with a fictional, short story I wrote. Please enjoy.

I liked that they served in-house iced coffee in pint glasses. It kept the iced coffee cold and it insured more bang for my buck versus the smaller to-go cup. The air was hazy and unseasonably warm for September, but I didn't want to sit inside and be subjected to the conversations among patrons. Most people seemed to piss me off in those days.

I opted for a table outside on the street, reveling in the opportunity to smoke while enjoying my dark roast, iced coffee. I never smoked until after 5:00 P.M. so that way I could always claim to be a social smoker. Just like I never drank until 7:00 P.M., except for the occasional Sunday bloody. It was a moment of solace at the end of a busy day that was just for me. I whipped out my current read, Lady Chatterley's Lover, and began what was a regular ritual. Coffee shops, bars, and parks were havens for the lonely and that is exactly what I was. I had been marooned in a medium-sized town in the middle of nowhere, all by choices I had made but rationalized as circumstances beyond my control.

A part of me was pissed off when someone decided to come outside and sit at the table adjacent to me. A part of me was also excited. Being alone and feeling disconnected from the rest of the world brought about a sense of carelessness and abandonment, more commonly known by millennials as not giving a single fuck.

After a few obligatory minutes of silence, he decided to break the ice. I could hear my mom in my head saying "Stranger Danger", but even Lisa would have to admit that this man was no serial killer. Good looking, but not too good looking. Nice height and eyes, well-groomed beard, and he was reading as well. Not bad for a Tuesday. What would it matter anyways?

"What are you reading?"

"I'd rather not say. It's... classic."

"Well now you have my interest. Besides, no one reads a book in public that they don't want to get caught reading."

"Lady Chatterley, it's a real fuck."

He laughed and it seemed like maybe for a moment someone in this Hamlet got me. I liked to make jokes a lot, but what most people didn't realize is that I always meant them. Despite my silliness, I am a very serious person.

We began talking about things of no consequence, but what I do remember is the way it felt to really talk to someone. The words flew out of our mouths with ease and for a minute I felt happy. I learned he was a musician (OH NO NOT ANOTHER ONE) and he was very much into rituals himself. He woke up every day and ate an apple, did sit-ups and crunches by his bed, and went for a ride on his bike. He made me feel like a sloth. The most exercise I got in those days was having sex after a night of drinking, which I kept to myself.

The sun began to set and I then realized that he had a bicycle with him. Not wanting the evening to end, I had to think of something.

"It's too dark for you to ride home. I would feel terrible if something happened to you. I drove a minivan here, I nanny for a family and I use their vehicle. Let me take you home."

"It's OK, I'll be fine. It's a straight shot... but you do have a point."

"I usually do."

After getting situated in the old Town and Country, I put on Fleetwood Mac's Rumours and cruised down Dickson Avenue.

"So, what do newly grads do on a Tuesday? I'm too old to remember."

"You can't be much older than I am, let's be serious."

"I'm 30, you're only a baby."

"I see. Well, this baby is going to a house party."

"Oh, that sounds cool. I'm not sure what I am up to, have a lot going on these days and an early morning."

That sentence was the first of many lies I would tell and enjoy telling. The "not giving a fuck" was pulsing through my veins 24/7. After a failed relationship that was just shy of three years, I was filled with numbness. All I was after was a good time.

"I think you should come."

I fake texted on my phone, because I only really talked to people from home and hung out with coworkers from the restaurant I worked at part-time... the few friends I had accrued cut ties post-breakup. I didn't have many, or really any, other options.

"Sure, but do you think I could crash at your friend's house? I have this weird thing about drinking and driving and I don't want to be the only sober one there either."

"I don't see why not."

He definitely smiled when he said that.

I thought about what I was wearing and how I looked. I had no makeup in my bag, but what I did have on seemed to hold up nicely. I was wearing jean shorts and a tight Billy Joel t-shirt. Cute enough to be passable and casual enough to be cool. Maybe I had planned on finagling a chance encounter with a stranger in my head? Sounded like something I would do.