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This story is in response to the elemental challenge posted at YTDAW. The elements are: the gait of a strange woman on a crowded street, a shaker of salt,a bottle of Coca-Cola, a smudge of lipstick on a glass, and a throw pillow.
Thanks to Nessa Owen for her beta work.
Her confidence.
There were many things that attracted him to women. If asked, he would have said that he was attracted to their minds, first and foremost. There were attractions he would not have admitted to, but he was also a man. He craved various body parts, gloriously tanned skin and long silky hair. But never before would he have said that the gait of a strange woman on a crowded street would eliminate all of those superficial wants.
Drawn by the confidence she put in every step-- every sway of the hips, he could not help but follow. Weaving through the mass of students that were quickly fading into the background, he quickened his pace to get a closer look. He stopped when she stopped. He walked when she walked. It was only when she stopped at the registration desk outside the lecture hall that he was able to observe her fully. She was young--a student --but she carried a sense of maturity he could not explain.
He needed to be closer. It was an odd need that he couldn't explain. That need overtook his body and he found himself making his way toward her. His mission halted by a hand on his shoulder. A fellow lecturer with questions about scheduling. The conversation was hurried and abrupt. He was sure he seemed rude, but that didn't matter. When he turned around, she was gone.
Her smile.
Just days later he stood at the front of the auditorium full of students. Some were enraptured by his lecture-some just wanting the credit, their attention elsewhere. It was halfway through his explanation of linear regression that he felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. That's when he saw her. He had her full attention. Not wanting to stare, he turned his attention back to his notes, but not before catching her movement out of the corner of his eye. It was the sip from a Coca-Cola bottle now hidden under her notebook and between her legs that drew him to her this time. He challenged her innocent gaze with amusement and a cocked brow. Seeing her face widen in one of the most magnificent smiles, he didn't know if he won or lost.
Her mind.
They had lunch that next day. There were talks of physics, Emerson, Shakespeare, forensics-the topics were never-ending. Not once taking his eyes off of her as she talked, he wondered if he'd ever met anyone with such zeal before. He shared little of his upbringing, content hearing of her family life in Tamales Bay, imagining her as the inquisitive and curious child he remembered being.
Once their meal arrived, she picked up a shaker of salt and seasoned her meal. Taking a small handful, she then tossed some over her left shoulder. He questioned the superstition and smiled as she explained that even though she believes that everyone builds their own destiny, there is no harm in helping it along |
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Her laughter.
A consult in San Francisco brought them together once more. He was not surprised by her success at the lab or that she was looked upon highly by her peers. When she told him that she'd decided to go into criminalistics, he knew that she would excel greatly. He was proud.
He waited on the curb of the hotel for her to pick him up for what she called a "Welcome to Frisco" dinner. Excited to have some time alone with her to catch up on the past couple of years, he could barely contain his smile when she drove up. Getting into her car, he glanced in the backseat and was shocked by what he found there. Several sets of clothes, shoes, books, a throw pillow and a blanket graced the backseat. When he asked where the kitchen sink was she threw her head back and laughed. He knew he would never forget that sound or her answer. "I want everything I need with me."
Her love.
His last night in town they met again for dinner. Their talks were the same but the looks and intent were different. Shy glances and double entendres were being tossed across the table. They were openly flirting. During her story about one of her latest cases, his eyes were directed to a smudge of lipstick on a glass sitting on the table in front of him. If he were at work he would be excited at the prospect of obtaining a sample of DNA. But right now, listening to her low, almost seductive tone, he wondered if he had ever been so jealous of an inanimate object.
Walking through the parking lot, their hands would brush up against each other. The touch left him both thrilled and scared. Exchanging goodbyes and promises to keep in touch, their locked eyes said something else. He was feeling the same pull that drew him to her years ago. As he neared her face, fear kicked in. He was too old-they lived so far apart-she used to be his student. At the last moment he bypassed her lips and lovingly kissed her cheek. Leaving his cheek next to hers, he nuzzled her ear and whispered his apology. She said she understood but he heard the crack in her voice. Walking away, he wondered if he'd just made the biggest mistake.
Her patience.
Sitting here now, the ice in front of them is chilling the air, but he remains warm. He knows that it has everything to do with the woman beside him. Times like these, when they are alone, is when he is honest with himself. He knows why he brought her here-he wants everything he needs with him, too. He hopes that one day he'll be able to tell her that it's her.
Content for now to just have her by his side, the discussion of violence in sports and America's favorite pastime has morphed into a more subjective topic. When she questions his knowledge on the subject, without hesitation, he honestly replies, "Since I met you."
The End |
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