The Precipice

“A curtain of stars, miles of them, are scattered, glowing, across the sky and their multitude humbles me, which I have a hard time tolerating. She shrugs and nods after I say something about forms of anxiety. It's as if her mind is having a hard time communicating with her mouth, as if she is searching for a rational analysis of who I am, which is, of course, an impossibility: there... is... no... key.”  

 

 

 

   It was the third time I have seen her this week. Same spot, same time. She stands in line, directly in front of me. This time, it was a little different.

   "We have to stop meeting like this", she coyly stated. This hit a nerve since she is a stranger, and I want her to be so much more than that.

   "I know. They are going to start thinking we are casing the joint", I smiled through my response. I've never been good at initiation. This is where I get nervous and stammer.

   "I have a feeling this place won't make us Bonnie and Clyde."

   "I know. Just sad. I have a feeling they don't even have enough money to get us to the border", my mind has already wandered into "undressing her with my teeth" territory.

   "Let's be honest, neither of us would last ten minutes in a border town", she's got a smile on her face that I would love to turn into delightful anguish.

   "Speak for yourself sister. If need be, I'd just use you as a bargaining chip anyways", I can see her on her knees, mouth filled. Her large brown eyes, wide, and tears ruining her makeup.

   "Hahahahaahah, oh really? What's to say I wouldn't do the same to you", practically laughing at this point.

   "Please, I'm an Americanized Mexican. I'm worse than a lazy gringo. I can't even mow a decent lawn. I'm the worst bargaining chip you could hold", she is laughing almost hysterically. I can't stop smiling.

   "I guess I should stop thinking about this convenience store robbing fantasy and order my sandwich", she giggles.

   "Oh, yes, without a doubt, because I am a notorious "cutter". I was like a cat burglar in elementary school", she laughs, steps up in line, and smiles back at me.

   At this point I have done things to her in my head that would make her cry in a shower for days. Luckily, any physical manifestation of my thoughts can not be seen. She has laid in my bed and smoked cigarettes, while I read her Chaucer. We have made love in an alleyways, in Paris. Like Henry Miller, and every single prostitute that held on to his coat tails. She has laid on a Chaise Lounge, let me fuck her mouth, while her best friend tongued her, and yelled Satan's name in proper Aramaic.

   She turns and bids me farewell with a grin. My esteem tanks. My fantasy withers. I order my sandwich, and make my way back to work, throwing open the glass doors.  

   "What's your name?", with my head down, it could be anyone's voice, but I know who it is.
   "Robert. Sorry, I know I can take things too far. Especially in public", I extend my hand. She shakes it. Yes, as a matter of fact I am still picturing her moaning on top of me.
   "I'm Chelsea, don't worry about it. You're hilarious. We should go get a drink sometime. Do you work around here?"
   "Yeah, I work right up the road............", the conversation trails off into what she does. What I do. How we wish we had the rest of the day off. I'm letting the "We should get a drink sometime" sit out there. This is not going to be the ending I had hoped for, but it's the one that needs to happen.
   As we trail off to go to our respective places of slavery, she reaches inside he car, and comes out holding a business card.
   "Call me sometime. Maybe we could go see a show at a "real" comedy club. You know, instead of just making each other laugh", she winks. I accept the card.
   "I'd love that. I haven't been in a while, actually."
   "Do you have a card?", she rightfully inquires.
   "I do, but we just changed locations, and my new ones haven't come in yet", all the while my cards are trying to eat through my wallet. This is literally going against every fiber of my being.

   She leaves.
   I walk with my head hung even lower.
   Morals suck.
   Her card goes in the trash.