More Windex

Writing from the perspective of the opposite gender, discuss your date. This person is trying really, really hard to hook you, for sex or otherwise, and it's blatant, and they're not picking up on your signals regarding how turned-off you are.

It was the wink, I think. I didn’t know if he meant to do it first time, but it became more pronounced. His glossy white teeth glinted as the corner of his mouth pulled up toward his iceberg blue eye. Wrinkles creased his face and the eye opened again, leaving a lingering smirk.

I had to stop listening to what he was saying. I had to put down my fork. I hid a bite of chewed salmon in my napkin, because I could not swallow it.

He laughed a careful laugh, scripted act and scene. His head tilted back. The gel in his hair had dried cloudy.

“You are quite the foxy lady.”

My smile was a smile of top teeth and scrunched forehead. I don’t think he noticed. He was busy trying to pour more wine into my glass. It was still full from the last pour.

“I need to use the ladies room.”

Take your time, he told me. I certainly would. I could feel his eyes on me, and I hated that I’d worn heels. I took a long path to the restroom. One that put tables and diners between him and my ass.

There was a woman staring into the mirror. She was wearing a red dress, and had her heels in her hands.

I stared at the mirror too.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I wanted to ask myself. “You’re a good looking, intelligent woman. Why did you agree to a blind date? A blind date set up by Sharon, of all people! Fucking Sharon.”

“You too?” It was the woman in red, and I wondered if I’d spoken. I hadn’t seen my lips move.

She smeared her hand across the mirror, leaving a dim streaky handprint.

“Don’t forget your heels.”

I sighed and stared at myself, still young, still smooth, still firm. No wrinkles yet. Yes, I’d become a beautiful woman.

I smeared my hand across the mirror, wondering if I could see what was underneath.

I doubt The Other Side had any better luck.

Salmon and Wine

Study of Form: Raymond Carver's "After the Denim"

Derrik Beckit sat behind the wheel of his new pick-up, staring straight ahead. Meredith Beckit, his mother, stared at her hands clasped in her lap. The radio was off, and the traffic light was red. She took a breath as though to speak, and unclasped her hands, reaching toward her son’s forearm, stopping midway as he glanced at her hand. She released the breath and reached for the radio dial. It played classic jazz, and the light turned green.

“We’re here,” Derrik said.

“Oh good,” said Meredith.

There was an open table waiting for them. The restaurant was almost full, the sound of strangers’ lunch conversations overpowering the soft rock station playing from the speakers in the ceiling.

She said, “Its been years.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time,” Derrik Beckit replied, glancing up but avoiding his mother’s eyes. At the table behind her, he noticed a gorgeous young woman. She wore light, subtle make-up and a stylish button up top. Her long hair escaped over her shoulder, and she pushed it back thoughtlessly, revealing a fine, delicate jaw. She was sitting with a much older man, graying scruff matching his graying hair. She smiled, and he laughed loudly.

“You look well,” Meredith Beckit said. “How have you been?”

Derrik looked down at his menu again, then glanced up at Meredith. “I’ve been fine,” he said. “I’m going to be enlisting in an officer training program next month. Two years ago, I would never have believed I’d stay a military man.”

A smiling waiter with slick black hair stopped at their table, and took drink orders. The young woman was sipping a white wine and talking animatedly to the scruffy older guy, who was grasping a fork in his fist and stabbing at a piece of salmon. She had a nice voice. There was no way, Derrik thought, the old guy could be her boyfriend.

“But it looks like that’s how I’m going to be spending the next handful of years,” he continued, scanning the menu in earnest and finding the salmon dish just as the cheerful waiter returned.

He asked, “What about you,” as he looked past her. The young woman was looking in his direction, though she returned her gaze quickly to the older guy. Derrik grinned to himself, knowing what it meant. He didn’t look away. She glanced again, and he caught her gaze. Her eyes were green. Her cheeks turned red and she looked down into her lap.

“…and I’m really excited about that,” said Meredith. Derrik nodded and smiled, encouraging his mother to continue. He couldn’t help looking over. Again, he met those green eyes. The young woman smiled, and his face turned hot.

“I’ll be right back,” his mother said. He stood politely as she rose, and sat again as she made her way to the restroom. He stood again seconds later, and went to stand beside the table of the beautiful woman and her scruffy companion.

“Sir, I hope you are a relative of this young woman,” Derrik said.

The man put down his fork. “Pardon me?” he said and stared. “What’s it to you?”

“You know,” Derrik said.

The young woman held her fork in mid-bite.

“And not her boyfriend, or husband or something.”

The scruffy man laughed loudly and said, “You’ve got balls son. Why don’t you ask her?”

She smiled and put down her fork. “My name is Natalie,” she said.

He walked back to his table, clutching a carefully folded napkin. He was trembling.

When Meredith returned, she asked, “Where were we?” She began talking again, and Derrik nodded, thinking only of the young woman. He felt guilty that his mother was so happy, and that all he really wanted was to be home, on the phone. She reached across the table and placed a hand on his arm, the first time they’d touched in so many years. There were tears in her eyes as she said, “We need to do this again.”