Acquaintance
By the time I notice her, I’m halfway through the flight of craft beer that I’m splitting with the friend across the table from me. As I listen to the plot of some sixteenth-century epic, my eyes fixate on a heart pendant at the end of a long chain. It sits atop a maroon sweater, above black calf-length boots and dark jeans, below unnaturally black hair and a furrowed brow.
A craft beer bar at a quarter after nine on Monday must be the most intentional place in town; every single one of us is here for a reason, but what’s hers? It seems like she’s out with girlfriends, but the three of them are filling the booth with smiles and laughter, while she looks lost in thought.
Around ten minutes after noticing her, I glimpse the edge of a tattoo under the left side of her collarbone. The sleeves of her sweater, pushed back, reveal sleeves of ink on patterns that I can’t resolve. As I puzzle over them, I realize that she can tell I’m looking. I focus back on my conversational partner in time not to blush from the scowl now pointed at me.
Initially, I thought that she was the group’s outsider, but as their hamburgers arrive with another round of drinks, I start to suspect that she’s the subject of the gathering. Almost exactly half an hour after I started watching her, I catch the first smile on her face, sandwiched between a laugh and a drink.
I think she sees me again, because her whole table turns around to look my way, and it doesn't feel like a coincidence. Their checks come, and when hers is accounted for, she gets up and heads in the direction of the restroom. I quietly pay and leave.
450 #32, Submitted 3/3/15
