pg22

I kept in touch with Jennifer; as best I could from across town. I realized that the distance was too much to keep the relationship we had together... well, I realize that now. It never occurred to me that the distance between us was becoming time and circumstance, not the miles. Jennifer had always worked at really nice restaurants as a hostess, seating guests and tracking both reservations, and the waiting list.

After a year, and some nasty business with the place I had been working for, I returned to the town of my youth, and took up shelter with my parents as a changed man, if "still troubled". I still had a job, worked at an independantly owned BBQ shack, and had my mission; define the psyche of the soul. OK, it was not all going great. Having moved out on my own had, financially, kicked me of my cocaine-convenience, but drink had nestled into my bosom so snuggly that most of my nights were spent finding the best locales with a corner to think in. Notebook after notebook was filled with the thought of a boy in search of the man.

One night, I came home, late, to my folk’s home, and found a note in the mailbox, written on an opened-up cigarette pack. It was from Jennifer. It had the seven digits on it I had not expected to hold in my hands ever again. I dialed it, and got a message machine. I gave the machine the number of where I was working. The next day, I received the call, and it was my dearest friend, Jennifer. She wanted me to come and see her at work that evening. Since my schedule was only filled with bar #1, move to bar #2, I agreed, and she gave me the directions. It was very easy to find, just off the freeway.

I had really expected her to meet me at the door, with a hug, and that gentle kiss on the cheek. Instead, I found myself being carded, and charged ten dollars by the ugliest three hundred pounds of muscle I have ever seen. The poor boy just reeked of steroids and aggression. Once inside, the flavor of the scene began to settle in. It was the darkness of the room, the hidden corners, and the stage. Over the P.A. came the sounds of the traditional southern-rock, and trendy industrial tunes that frequent an establishment such as this. Once the ambience soaked in, and saddened my heart, I went straight for the one thing I knew I needed in a time like this: whiskey, double, no ice.

That was when I saw her, across the room, and half naked. She was giving a table dance to one of the patrons, who I am sure was not really interested in what a beautiful girl he had near him. He did have his eye on the most delicate and perfect breasts ever to have been formed. She waved at me, and I smiled. No situation would ever sway my respect, or my love for this woman, for I had known her as a girl when I was just a boy. It was this moment that it all made sense to me. The mystery that I had spent so much time trying to solve was as simple as growing up. As a matter of fact, it was growing up. I no longer stood before her as a boy, I was a young adult, a budding man. She was all woman, as more than twelve, where I was, could testify.

They didn't know her; they did not care to know her. She did not care to know them. That was the real sadness to it. The beauty of the naked flesh can not be peddled. It can only be shared and appreciated; there in lies the magic of love and expression. In my heart, at that moment, I could see the "for sale" sign she wore around her neck. I wanted to just grab her, and take her away from that moment, from that place. What have we truly lost when sensuality has a price tag?

Once the song had ended, and her twenty dollars had been collected, she came to me with that ever so pleasant smile, and the demeanor of an angel. As she approached, I hid my sadness for the sophistication of missing her. It was the most honest thing, and the nicest, I was thinking at the time. I began to process what has happened to her in the moments she took to cross the room, something I am ashamed to say I have become very good at. I deduced that the plight of divorce had come to a head between her and her mother, and that she was now living on her own. With bills to be paid, and knowing her power over men, the situation began to lose its edge of hatred and loathing that my heart held, but my face never revealed. I quickly finished my drink, ordered another, and a root beer with schnapps for my beloved. I am surprised that I still remember that. We embraced as if we had not seen each other in years, as if the war was over, and we now had each other again. More than likely it was just me. I knew she missed me, but I also knew that she had a boyfriend. A girl like that never goes with out one, and I knew it was not a reunion of passion, but of likeness.