Bent Words

Bent Words

August 21, 2007

July 30, 2004

You would not believe the boy, smooth and swift, as he pulled up that night on his DR350. Although his presence had already been announced, she could not help but stare, with all the world breathless and still, just to make sure it was indeed him. She saw the signature helmet upon his head, the red pack strapped to his back, the position of his feet upon the DR's pegs and she knew...

She lost all recognition of the conversation she had moments before been involved in and skipped quickly to the bar in search of his first Miller Light. No one stood before her, not one thing held her distraction - she only knew he was behind her, well prepared for a drink. With an increased heart beat, eyes growing wide and a balance suddenly less graceful, she returned to the door, holding out the cold bottle of beer in her hand. His helmet not fully removed, she began to retract her offer and gently curse her extension of such obvious eagerness.

At the table nearest the door he placed his belongings and she quickly procurred an ashtray, all the while feeling dizzy with his presence. She sat for awhile as, one by one, another person greeted his smiling face and perhaps shook his hand. Over her shoulder, she kept a wandering eye on a friend she had invited, sitting with a group at the table on the other side of the bar where she had spent her previous hours. Every so often she returned, to chat with him and explain the entrance of that man atop the DR.

Back and forth, her body strayed; unable to keep herself from him. She ordered the bartender to keep his drinks on her tab as she was excused from his consistent company. Here and there she travelled, round the room and back again - her wandering eyes not for a moment failing to find his gorgeous face.

At the bar, her friend exclaimed at how good she looked just then - her face so bright with wide and glowing eyes, her back arched with eloquent grace and a smile gleaming with the knowledge that HE had arrived. How everything affected by him, how sudden the world she lives in can be changed by his hold on her heart, how wonderous - such deep adoration. And she could not deny the brevity of his words, though her cheeks must have reddened with his accusation of her tacit nature.

The remainder of the evening found her and the man on the DR350 seated together at the table nearest the door, mildly conversing. Tortured with ardor, steadily her senses would seek out the curve of his lips, the dimples that accompany his smile, the color of his eyes, the build of his nose, the the motion of his fingers... How she wanted to reach out and gently touch his face, the same features that never ceased to boldly strike her and always left her wanting more. But the night had to end and she knew...

She knew that hug would provoke the struggle of never wanting to let him go. She knew the sight of watching him ride away would be forever pinned upon her heart, piercing her emotions with each passing day. She knew that she did not desire to drive away, but that by turning down just one more street with her lack of direction, she would make the journey of returning to him impossible.

You would not believe the girl, so ready and so right, as she drove in the opposite direction of the night. What miserable strength must have gripped her. What tortured pride must have kept her from turning 'round...

Written at 4:36 p.m.