I can just make her out
through the haze of the bar.
Her hair grabs my eyes and
refuses to let them continue on
their bored path around the room.
Her hair's a bit dramatic,
blond tipped with black, or
brunette striped with red or orange
or gold, but it seizes my attention.
I can't help but examine her face.
Her features are fine, hard lines
balanced with soft curves, high
cheekbones but not gaunt. Her
eyes are unusual, a cat's vivid green,
following every movement around her,
or the gray of overcast clouds, which
pick up every hint of violet in the room.
Full lips draw back in a smile to
reveal teeth carefully polished white.
Something about them suggests that
she might have just finished fighting
away an addiction to nicotine, but
they now sparkle in the light. Her mouth
moves quickly, she's saying something,
probably low and sharp, judging by the way
all of her friends start to laugh. The sound
of her laughter can be picked out among
them, the melody to beautiful music.
You can tell she is dominant, the way that
she sits back but always has something to
say, how everything is said to her, how
her friends always listen to every word she
whispers. She is an alpha among equals,
leading when she chooses or when it falls
to her. She's drinking something dark.
Something bitter. It looks an awful lot like
what I'm drinking now. Good beer.
With a body like hers, the kind that gets
described as "great." She's just a hair
shorter than I, slender, the kind of girl
I've always imagined holding on my lap.
Her proportions aren't what many guys
would go for, but my preferences aren't
theirs. A new song comes on the jukebox.
I know this one, I like it. Her ears seem
to perk up at its cords. Does she know it
too? Her eyes catch mine, and she smiles.
Could she be smiling at me? I grin
in return, hoping that she is actually looking.
I can see the fire in her eyes. She
burns. Perhaps that fire is tired
of kindling. Perhaps the hunger in
her soul is sick of appetizers. Perhaps
I could be the main course. Perhaps
I could burn with her. I can hear
the Wolf whispering to me. Telling me
that now is the time I should move,
that I need to act immediately. That
I should take what I want, what she's
offering. And, for once, I want to listen.
I agree. I want to act. My body seems
made of lead as I struggle against it,
trying to get up to talk to her. I don't even
know what I might possibly try to say.
Just as I stand, some guy walks up to
their table. Tall, athletic, a blond mop
tops his head. The kind of guy who has
never felt loneliness, who has never even
had to try to find a date. The kind of
guy that I have never been and can not
compete with. He speaks, she listens.
They smile. I flag the waitress and sit
back down. The night is still young and
I have a lot of drinking left to do.

You can't turn off that you're dead.

******************************

There, that guy, near the bar. The one
with the brown hair shining gold in
the light, playing with it like a puppy
with a bone. I can just pick out his
green eyes from here. But they're not
just green. There's something else about
them, something different. They shine
brightly with intelligence and humor.
And somewhere beneath them, you can
see it. A fire burning. The kind that
can burn and consume, but seeks to be
banked by another fire. A fire looking
for something just like it. I know
what that sort of fire burns like. I know
exactly. He's smiling again, and I can
almost make his voice out against the
din of the bar. He laughs. That smile
and laugh were what first caught my
attention. But the rest of him is holding
it now. His bright white teeth are
framed by a goatee, trimmed short
with care. You can just make out the
cleft in his chin through it when you
look closely. His nose is a tad crooked,
attesting that he hasn't spent his whole
life avoiding conflict. His face is
expressive and he gestures widely with
his hands, every word a joke, every
action deliberate. And his friends hang
on his every word and deed. They defer
to him, tell him everything. He's just
there now, but you can tell, he could own
the room if it came to him. The only reason
he's not in charge now is because he doesn't
feel like it. He's a leader. There's that
certain feel about him. He's not dressed like
everyone else. His style is smooth and
tight. Black leather and blue sateen.
Not everybody can do leather pants, but
this guy looks natural in them. I wish
I could pull off leather half as well.
He's not a body builder by any means,
but his clothes make it obvious that
he isn't carrying around a spare tire either.
He's drinking some dark beer, a man who
knows what he likes and can appreciate
darker tastes. His whole body moves
with a scarcely contained energy. The
jukebox starts playing a different song.
This is one of my favorites. As I listen
I notice him mouthing the words. Does
he like this song too? He's looking over
this way. Our eyes lock. My heart
beats faster. I nervously smile at him.
He smiles back, the light sparkling over
his teeth. Was it enough? Will he come
over and introduce himself? He's standing
up. That's the cue for my sister's boyfriend
to show up. And of course he notices me,
has to talk to me. Dammit. Does God really
hate me? I look around him. I can see the fire
go out in the eyes of the guy at the bar. Dammit.

You can't turn off that you're dead.