INCELARITY

microfiction

And there she was, a perfect stranger, the perfect stranger, weaving her way uptown though mostly downtown pedestrian traffic, knee-length sweater parting slightly with each barelegged stride in my direction, long curly blond hair wild in the wind, her gait confident, graceful, her face pulling into focus with each step we took, a stone’s throw apart, maybe shouting distance, or maybe not, because of the traffic noise, but just close enough to register her sideways smile, at something, a thought or recollection, the shimmering spring day, at life, the absurd beauty of it all, or not impossibly in reaction to the sight of me, a signal, that we’d hit it off right away, make each other laugh, over drinks at that Irish joint on 8th Avenue, over time, at one place or another, her place or mine, eventually ours, or the beach, during a weekend getaway, or the Eiffel Tower, during a European vacation, a sign, that we’d get each other, on every level, connect, chemically, tit for pheromonal tat, psychologically, anima to animus, physically, surrendering sweetly to to the irresistible force of animal magnetism, erotic synchronicity, seismic orgasms, as if stranger things hadn’t happened a hundred times before, a million, a gazillion, like only time will tell, as it marches on, our moment of truth fast approaching, a hop, skip and jump between us now and closing, to talking distance, smelling distance, for a whiff of her perfume during the split-second freeze-frame face-to-face time, when her eyes met something behind me: an acquaintance, a passing bus billboard, but definitely not me, which of course made perfectly good sense here in the big city, where it’s probably not the best idea to make eye contact with random guys on the street, although she didn’t intentionally look away from me either, so maybe just a system glitch, due to some momentary distraction, accentuated by her ADHD, no doubt, chronic self absorption, even narcissism, alas! no longer the carefree, wholesome girl I once knew, so probably for the best that we continued on our separate ways, which isn’t to say I don’t miss her now and then, but, you know, relationships are hard, and I had things to do.