Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Northern Exposure

the mood had shifted. they were looking for more and she knew it. the tone had changed, grown more suggestive and the urging for more drinks in another location grew more insistent. she knew it was time to go. the voice that had told her to have fun and enjoy the company of the cute stranger in the black hat was now telling her that too much alcohol had been consumed by too many people. 5 of them. one of her. it was time to go.

bills tallied, cash exchanged, coats on and blast of cold air as the door opened. quiet. darkness. isolation.

they wanted her to come. she laughed and joked about a long drive the next day. they wanted her to come.

quiet roar, stirred dust, silver beast - dinosaur? no, F150. the driver waves. doors open. her people have come. they retreat as they see she isn't alone.

she moves to the vehicle and he jumps out. doors slam, flurry of excitement, forgotten communications, sly glances from passengers.

he enters the vehicle to her right. she inquires after his missing item. he presses his leg against it, against her. she's been found.

realization. confirmation. deliberation.

she desires contact to thank him. she calls, she knocks, she waits, she knocks, she waits, she retreats.

miscommunication?

phone rings. not him. an invitation, a chance to investigate. she looks and waits and tests the temperature. she leans where she hasn't before. she instigates contact. he smiles. he shrugs off her thanks.

yawns, goodnights, he glances back down the hall? or did she imagine that.

morning. did she imagine it? she's uncertain and shrugs off her crazy thoughts. she blames it on the alcohol. then he gives her shoulder a squeeze while passing her. a simple squeeze, but a suggestive squeeze. the squeeze tells her he knows she knows.

they know.

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