Once and a while our heart want passion, our eyes something fine to gaze upon, our head not to have to think, our toes to tingle, and a story that leaves us wondering.
“I don’t like to play word games.”
“I’m a terrible speller.”
“I thought you said you were a writer.”
“I am. I love words, I do, but I have no retention for spelling them.”
“I guess the dictionary is your best friend.”
“Yes it is.” I smile.
“Well, this is a word game, not a spelling game. I start with a word and you respond with the first word that comes to mind. I reply to your word and on it goes. No spelling or thinking is required, just your gut reaction. Got it?”
I smile for the second time. This one is dangerous. He might win me over, break me down, and make me regret my decision to flirt. Sitting at the edge of the Pacific watching the sunset has always been my weakness. The first time… No, I’m not going to cross that line and remember when.
“Are you ready? You seem to be off on some solitary adventure. Is there another?”
“No one but you and I sitting here in this bar watching the day end.” I swivel on my bar stool and look around the room pretending to look for someone. There is no one. “I’m ready.” His eyes are greenish blue. Are they a shallow puddle, or a deep pool, I wonder? It’s difficult to know if someone has potential without peeling back the layers, exposing yourself, surrendering, and hoping they do the same. I’m not sure about him, or if I want to take the chance.
‘Okay. Here goes… “
We stare into one another’s eyes. Neither one of us talking, each of us waiting.
“It’s just a game to play while the sun burns into the horizon. I don’t like the noise it makes or the memories it conjures.”
He has a past. Maybe he has a story, too. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Beyond,” he starts.
“Past.” He has one eye on the horizon and the other one on me.
“Romance.” He sips from the beer standing alone on the counter in front of him. He is pensive.
“Impassioned.” He should know.
“Knickers.” His eyes are reflective. I can almost see him searching for a definition inside of his mind. I like watching him process his thoughts. Maybe he is worth the chance.
He holds up his right hand stopping our game mid-play. I follow his line of sight and watch the sun sink below the horizon. I absently sip from my watered down margarita and slip unnoticed into the silence. Time slows down until it’s in tune with the crossover from day to night. I am lost in the sunset and forget him until his left arm slips around my waist. He is is standing on my side looking down at me. He smiles slowly and resumes our game of chance.
Have you ever passed up a moment of connection for no logical reason and wondered why years later? OR How would you like their story to end?