Tragically OwegoMature


“24 years old,” I said. “And no orange in my beer please. I only eat oranges in the morning. What do you think I am, a savage?”




“Bull-true.  Here’s my ID.” I pulled my wallet out and handed it over.


“Jonathan Oxford, huh?  What the hell kind of name is that?” she asked as she flipped her hair away from her eyes to accentuate her incredulous glare.


“Irish and Italian, I’m half and half.”


“You look Irish – it must be those sky blue eyes, I just want to lick them…”


Wow, I thought to myself - That’s a pretty bold statement to make to a total stranger. But then again she’s terribly attractive; she can get away with being so forward. And not in the classic sense, but in an artsy, wayward, help-me-now or I’m going to kill myself kind of way. 


A deeply dangerous woman – thin, blond curly hair, blue eyes, about 5’5, high cheek bones, perfectly shaped eye brows, an aristocratic nose, perfect teeth, perfect creamy skin, medium sized breasts – absolutely stunning…


“Blue Moon was it?” she asked. “No orange slice, right? You don’t want to become a savage-henry, whatever that means.” 


“No, I guess not.” I said. “So who is the wannabe cowboy playing slightly off Johnny Cash tunes?  What kind of situation is this?  I thought I was in an Irish bar…”


“He calls himself The Urban Cowboy – an Asian John Wayne…” she said.


“Well that’s a joke,” I smirked, “he’s not even 6 feet tall - you have to be at least 6’3 to be cowboy – jesus, everyone knows that…”


Her face turned from happy to angry in a split second.  Her eyebrows slanted and she pulled off a full squint.“Watch your mouth, killer or I’ll cut that tongue of yours right out.”


“Touchy, touchy – you two must be sleeping together?” I asked in a slightly sardonic tone.


“Who the hell do you think you are? Who I sleep with is none of your frigging business.  I don’t even know you…” she said in complete disgust as she flipped her fake curls away from her eyes for a second time.


Now with a statement like that I usually figure that it’s my time to end the conversation and go back to my table - seek the comfort of good friends and just chalk it up to bad timing.


But there was something about this girl.  I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, maybe it was her hipster style – red framed glasses, tight tapered black jeans and a tight, plaid, white snap-button, cowgirl, collar shit.  I don’t know, but one thing is for sure – I couldn’t stop staring at her.


I stood there like a complete fool.  With my beer in one hand, orange and all, we just looked into each others eyes – this went on for about 5 minutes, no talking, just staring.


One could easily interpret what was going on as hostile and I am sure people were, but there was something unspoken, a connection or sorts – and we both knew.


Then a wave came over me. I blinked twice and said, “I gotta get the fuuccckkk out of here….”


I turned around, told my buddies I have to return some videotapes and walked up the stairs.  On my way out I looked back through the window and she was still looking at me.  I sprinted around the corner, jumped in car, put on some Tears for Fears and drove home. 


For as long as I can remember I’ve had a penchant for kamikaze women. I guess it’s the whole opposites attract kind of thing – however I would hardly call myself stable, maybe financially but certainly not emotionally.


Well, I decided, not this time.  I will not fall for a wayward painter type.  She will leech the life out of my soul.  She’ll use me as a stepping-stone and leave me.  I know it.  The writing is on the wall.


But she was so cute.  Maybe I could just see her a few times and see if we click.  Maybe we could just be fuck-buddies – no no no – No way, it just isn’t worth it.  This girl will be no good; she’ll chew me up and spit me out.


Just like the last one…

The End

0 comments about this story Feed