* I've had this sitting in my computer for a long time. Maybe I'll write more for it, maybe I won't.
He stares at you and you begin to wonder if he knows something about you that you don’t even quite know yet. That glance leaves you asking what he recognizes about you, what could he know since well, shit, you don’t know anything about him. Who is he? Why can those brown eyes see right through you? Seemingly small, yet the structure calls you to them and begs you to ask yourself why you haven’t spent your whole life staring into them. That look, but more importantly – he, entertains your fantasies about falling in love at first sight. Whatever just happened, you know you must talk to him. Those eyes could lead to love or some serious, serious trouble. Either way, for some reason, you’re just dying to find out.
You stare at him, cautiously, hoping not to get caught. What do you know about this man? Perhaps you remember his face from one of the other parties you’ve been to, your college may be large, but the parties can all be the same. Or perhaps you’ve seen that particular set of eyes around your campus, but that’s doubtful because eyes that haunting will always be remembered. How can he know something about you when you know completely nothing about him? Ah, fuck all these questions. You convince yourself into doing what you know you can do since you have done it time and time before. Why is he so different?
5 steps. That’s all it takes to probe your mind and hopefully fulfill your intentions. 2 steps forward and one step back, you thought you stopped being nervous about introducing yourself to the opposite sex months ago, but he is unlike the others. 3 steps forward, but now he takes one closer to you. At least now you know that those eyes will always be haunting, across the room or right in front of your view. You open your mouth to ask for his name, but he already beats you to it.
“I’m not going to tell you my name and there are two reasons for that. I’ve always enjoyed mysteries and I already know yours,” he says clearly and without hesitation. Your whole body begins to heat up, yet you are not sure if that is because you are nervous, embarrassed, or turned on. You suppose the answer is all three. This flirting tactic is more than clever, but if he is going to act like a crow then you will be a fox. You inch yourself closer to him effortlessly, practically whispering into his ear, “Your eyes already told me that you knew something about me, so tell me what’s my name?”
Those illustrious eyes gaze upon the widened curve of your smile with a look so cunning that you start to believe perhaps he is the fox and you are the easily tricked crow. His rough lips pronounced the following words with delicacy, “You are the only person wearing a red dress at this party and the only girl that hasn’t danced with anyone tonight. You look heaven sent, but I can tell you’re no good for me like the devil.”
The look on your face shows you are still not convinced, as he continues to say, “Your name is Bonnie. Not only does that mean beautiful in most languages, but in French it means sweet and that seems to be the most fitting for you.”
Now you must have looked flattered; if this was some elaborate scheme to get you to go home with him, it may even work. What could you say to be as sexy and as cunning as he? The thought feels impossible as more time is wasted while you look red, shocked, and excited – a combination that is very rare for you. Quickly, you begin saying, “If my name is Bonnie and I’ll be no good for you, then what? Are you my Clyde?”
The smile doesn’t leave his handsome face as he replies, “No, and I’m not sure we’ll ever fall in love while robbing banks, but that was a smart enough guess.”
“Well, did you know Bonnie and Clyde did not rob as many banks as people believed? They robbed smaller joints like gas stations because everyone knows those crimes are easier to commit.”
“I knew you were a bad girl. Look at you, knowing which crimes to commit. You’re right though, banks are difficult, even back in the day.”
“I know I’m right. And I’m not a bad girl, I just like to research criminals. They’re interesting.”
“Yes, I know, you’re a Christian girl, aren’t you?”
Your fun, hopefully flirty eyes dart to the necklace hanging around your chest and to the midi-ring you always wear on your middle finger. Has he heard about you or is he merely observant? You aren’t sure which you prefer – rumors can be deadly, but wrongful perception can be equally horrific. Your fake Clyde looks more attractive than ever, because he knows he is winning this conversation and the game of control is reaching its end, but this fake Clyde doesn’t know everything about you.
“Whenever guys ask me that, I automatically think they’re hoping I’ll have a slutty nun costume, if those exists, just so they can make a fetish out of my faith, but yes I’m Christian.”
One of your greatest features is being able to surprise every person with what you are going to say next. You genuinely pride yourself on your intense ability to speak your mind, whether that be unwanted or gross or insane – honesty remains the only policy. The conversations generated from rawness are always funnier, deeper, and overall better. As mystery-boy looks back at you with amazement, perhaps astonishment, your smile fades when a familiar, yet deadly pair of eyes are caught following your conversation.
Now, you have never been one to fight, so when your natural instincts kick in, you flee. As soon as your eyes once again burn into your old favorite pair, you spin your feet around and begin walking in the opposite direction of the dark entity approaching. Your new shoes are stepped on repeatedly as you squeeze your way through the drunken, sex-seeking masses and you become upset with the black marks developing along the sides, but figure you’d rather have marks that can be cleaned than marks that can never be erased. The inside of the party house reeked of sweat so upon escaping into the darkness of the night, you allow yourself to enjoy a cigarette to celebrate the freshness of the air.
You’re not usually one to enjoy cigarettes, but you find yourself always keeping a pack on you in case of drunken or stressed cravings for nicotine. In this situation, both cravings are apparent. The short inhales taken in between crosswalks feel lonely for the first time as you realize that you never got mystery-boys name, you left a party because you saw an ex, and finally that you had no friend for your walk back home. The latter realization prompts you to reach for your pepper spray in your purse as you walk the remaining blocks home alone, partially drunk, in the highest crime-rated city in Virginia.
