Allure

I .

I can’t remember exactly when it was now, but I remember when I first saw her. At least I think it was the first time I had ever seen her, maybe not.

I was in that little bar that I used to eat at several times a week; the one where I would sit and listen to the miners who would come in for lunch and sit and smoke while they talked and bitched about whatever topic one of them would bring up. I would sit and listen, pretending to read the paper, or stare at the spilled ring of coffee on my table while playing out their stories in my mind. I could see the one in the dirty carhart jeans. The one that held his cigarette between his middle and ring finger because his index finger was missing; listening as he said how fucked up he had been the night before and how he felt like shit now. I could see without looking the one that sat across from him. He wore a frayed flannel shirt that was worn so thin that you could almost see right through it. He ate his bacon cheeseburger leaning over his plate with grease glistening on both hands. He would mutter an occasional “no shit” and continue eating without looking up at his buddy.

I sat there until I knew it was time to go. The waitress had asked me twice if I wanted anything else. She looked at me as if to say: either order something or get the hell out of here. I paid and left.

She was standing with her back to me. I couldn’t tell what she was doing, I couldn’t even see her face, but for some reason her presence stopped me. Perhaps it was a certain allure in the way she just stood there. Her body had a nice shape. She wasn’t a knockout, but better than average for around here. She had her arms folded in front of her as she leaned against the awning post and just stood there. I lit a cigarette and coughed hoping the sound of some one behind her might cause her to turn around, but she didn’t. So I stood there smoking and she stood there with her back to me. I studied the back of her upper arms and the curve of her hips without trying to be too obvious; the bare skin at the small of her back where her black tank top didn’t quite reach the waist of her jeans. I looked at her hair that came down to the middle of her back, tangled and the color of dry straw, no, more like sand, but smooth. As I said, from what I could see she wasn’t bad looking and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. After a minute the miners began coming out so I thought I better go. Maybe she was waiting for one of them. Maybe she was waiting for the one that got so “fucked up” the night before. Maybe she was pissed off and was going to let him have it right there. No idea. I wanted to see her face. I really wanted to see her face.



II .

I was in my second year of college. I don’t really remember why I was in college except that I had this overwhelming desire to do something after high school. The idea of going to college intrigued me. I ended up hating it. Oh, I started out fine with my general education requirements. I took the calculus, technical writing, anthropology; all these courses seemed easy to me. I hate to say it, but they were almost boring. I sat in lectures and just could not focus. I would think about the weekend I had just had, going fishing, getting drunk, or my bank statement; anything except the lecture. I never took notes.

The trouble started my junior year. Up until then I had not decided on my major; engineering had to be more challenging than most of the other majors offered. I chose mechanical and this is when I had to get serious about school. It’s also when my grades began to drop. I didn’t know any mechanical engineers at the time; I only knew the reputation that the program had. It’s funny though, the harder it got for me, the more determined I became. I was going to become a mechanical engineer. I no longer day dreamed about the weekend, getting drunk, going fishing, or much else. Instead I saw myself working in research, writing papers, and much acclaim for the new engineer. The reality though was that I worked like a dog, barely graduated and ended up with a twenty five thousand dollar a year job doing clerical work for a mining company. No one would hire me as an engineer with my grade point average.

I sat in an office every day staring at spreadsheets on a thirteen inch monitor. I had a round grey metal waste basket and one of those grey metal desks, you know, the kind that you can find in your typical government office with some rude civil servant behind it that won’t look at you. I didn’t have a window in my office, but that’s probably good because if I had I wouldn’t have got much done. I’m not exactly sure what color the tile on the floor was. I don’t think it was every really white, it was just sort of a dull beige color; or maybe it was sand. I wanted to see white.

Once again I did think about my bank statement a lot. With student loans to pay off and a twenty five thousand dollar salary it was on my mind quite a bit. You know, I really would have liked to see white.



III .

The Staff Sergeant was tired, so was I. I could see it through the dust on his face as he as he took a drink from his camel back. We had been lying in a filthy stinking ditch along the road for nearly twelve hours. My platoon was on its fifth mission that month to grab insurgent leadership from a town twenty five miles from our forward operating base. Two miles from the town the lead Stryker hit an I.E.D., and then everything went to hell. We are severely outnumbered and the Apaches were not available to provide support for another two hours. At first the fighting was heavy; R.P.G.s took out two of the hummvees while we took cover and returned fire. Then the fighting was sporadic, mostly they were just harassing us with small arms fire while we waited for air support.

The Army was a way to pay off my student loans. At least that’s what I told everyone. The truth is I just had to get out of that office with no window. I wanted something else; there has to be something better than this. So I went through OCS, was commissioned a Second Lieutenant, and soon after left for Iraq. The first four missions such as this went smooth, but this one was pretty much a text book example of what you don’t want to happen.

I reloaded one of my spent magazines and looked over at my sergeant. He was lying on his back with his hands folded on his 16 across his chest. He turned his head toward me and although he didn’t say anything, the look on his face, that sand in the corners of his eyes told me everything. I’d really like to see an Apache right about now.



IV .

I couldn’t go. I took a few steps away on the sidewalk, lit a cigarette and took out my cell phone. While I stood there pretending to look at messages I kept looking up at her back and her sand colored hair. The two miners were standing right outside of the door. Nine fingers lit another cigarette while the other one stuffed a big wad of dip into his mouth. She kept leaning against that post; she obviously wasn’t waiting on the miners and they hardly seemed to notice her. They were talking but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I was sure they weren’t talking about her. I had to see her face; find some way to get her to turn around. The miners weren’t helping much and I couldn’t stand there thumbing my phone, sneaking looks at her much longer.

My phone rang. She turned around. She looked at me as though she saw nothing else - only me, with blue eyes that drilled right through me. That hair framing her face, she smiled as though she recognized me. She ran both of her hands up through that beautifully tangled sand colored hair. Her eyes never left me as she lowered her chin a little, still smiling, and swayed a little with her hands behind her head. I swallowed, shut off my phone and put it back into my pocket, dropped my cigarette, turned and left. She smiled again, then turned back to leaning on her post. I really wanted to see her face.





He Always Does – Allure

Spinning around
arms outstretched
grinning and giddy like a
child you once were.
It’s your dance Janine
the same dance you always do
to music that only the both
of you can hear
- he always stands

over there - smoking
you see him and stop
wavering just a little
unbalanced fingers entwined
behind your tangles.
Janine you know he can’t
avoid your eyes
inviting, vibrant and
deep, oh how deep.
How could he turn away?
But he does turn away
Janine
- he always does.

He steps on his
cigarette and leaves.
Oh well, just a little shrug
then a laugh as you
begin turning
it’s your dance again
Janine, but you know
he’ll come back
- he always does.