Might as well drink alone

Look at her. I can’t help but look at her. Her hair is a playful field of sun colored grain. Her bronze skin is brushed with crimson from the chilled autumn air. Her eyes, those steel blue eyes, pierce everything and reveal little more than a mirror would.

She is made of marble. The female form chiseled from cold rock to behold, but never to absorb. She is impenetrable both physically and mentally. Her barriers are quite complete.

Make no mistake, this isn’t malice she projects. Far from it. Her tone is kind and her words are pleasant, but the emotions are so guarded it’s like speaking in an empty room. I hear sounds, but they may just be echoes of my own words.

She answers every question I ask about her with prompt, correct and brief responses. She never submits ancillary information. Again, not due to mistrust, but because I didn’t ask. It’s as almost if she analyzes each letter she speaks. Making sure she doesn’t expose some hidden secret. It’s frustrating, mystifying and intoxicating. Or is it just the wine?

We drink and try to make conversation. Every drop seems to weather away her exterior a bit more. Cracks form in her silent mysterious outer trappings. I become excited and hopeful as I see her expose more of her internal (her words are looser) and external self (the bar is warm and her sweater is discarded). And finally the small talk is finished and we begin a descent into more intimate banter. A chance to delve deeper into what she wishes, desires, hopes and dreams. The discourse of discovery begins and as I pull away her protective shell I find… nothing underneath.

She’s an idiot. Worse than that, she’s boring. She wasn’t shy or guarded at all. It was all a clever ruse to hide the shallow, uncultured, oaf woman that resides in this stone idol. We may need another bottle of wine. Something red, full-bodied and cheap. I don’t think she could tell Merlot from Miller.

Sipping more vigorously, we begin to switch roles as I slip into a silent observer and she lets flow the essence of her being. From what I can gather from her incoherent slurred ramblings, she is a materialistic princess that has become accustomed to using her looks and her family’s money to overcome her ignorance and bigotry. She has gone from aloof to boring and has finally settled on obnoxious. I want to flay her alive by the time she orders another round.

By the time we are through with this bottle, neither of us seems able to continue. I am half asleep and she can barely stand. Even with all those faults reviled earlier, the fact that she can’t hold her liquor is currently the most offensive. I drag her from her seat, stuff her into her coat and scarf and pull her to the curb.

Amazingly, I am able to help dress her and hail a cab in under sixty seconds. Just as she is about to stumble into her canary hued carriage, she throws her arms around me and places her head on my shoulder for a discomfited drunken embrace. I reciprocate by lightly patting her on the back with an arm I was able to wrench free from her grip. After another awkward pause, I shake her loose and deposit her into the waiting taxi.

She smiles, thanks me for a wonderful evening, and proceeds to lie down in the back of the cab, slowly slinking below my line of sight until she’s completely out of view. Exactly where I want her. I no longer want to look at this statuesque beauty who is as thick as her earthen medium. I make a mental note to lose her number as soon as I get home.