You’re imagining it, aren’t you?
I could tell you her name — but do I want to give up the secret?
Maybe you’re better off not knowing. I don’t know what kind of person you are. You’re here for a story, I imagine, and you don’t want to be kept waiting. I can already imagine you sitting back and twitching with telltale impatience.
I was like you, once, before I wised up.
A lot had to happen for me to reach that point.
But we’ll get there.
A story like this brews for a bit before it’s ready.
I’ll set the scene for you — with enough details to keep you happy while allowing us to stay anonymous. You never know who might be watching or listening. This town’s always going to have an ear out to write down a laundry list of somebody else’s sins. And then those tidbits will go to the highest buyer. That’s just the kind of place this is.
She and I? We deserved better. So much better.
I still remember the first time I saw her — a fleeting glimpse on the one street that made up the sorry little patch we called downtown. She was poetry bound up in a lovely white summer dress that hugged every inch of her, and I found my eyes tracing the way she walked. Away from me, of course. Wasn’t it just my luck that the perfect girl would be walking out of my life instead of into it?
But she caught me looking, my gaze lingering on her form, because I didn’t look away in time.
I should have been embarrassed, maybe, to be staring at her with such hunger.
Her pink-glossed lips curved before she turned her head away.
Only later did I find out who she was. I wouldn’t have looked her way if I had known. Girls like her didn’t belong with someone like me.
But I kept thinking back to the sway of her — as if she were a dancer moving to music only she could hear — and it was so easy to lose myself in just the simple fantasy of what she could be.
The surprising thing out of all of it? She came back.
The next day, her shadow darkened the door of the ice cream shop. Thankfully, the manager and I had just opened the doors, so the tourists had yet to flock in. That was how no one saw our first interaction.
I must have looked flustered because a coy little smile dashed across her lips before she lingered in front of the ice cream case. Then she pointed one finger to her choice: strawberries and cream. Classic choice for a classic girl.
I tried not to look at her as I doubled up the scoops on a sugar cone for her. We barely even brushed fingertips when I handed her the cone or when she gave me the exact change for the ice cream. But my face felt like I had sat in the heat building outside.
She took one of the seats along the counter. I tried to look busy even though it was only ten o’clock in the morning.
Then I happened to glance up and meet her eyes. She ran her fingertip over the softening ice cream and brought a small dollop to her lips. Her tongue snaked out, just the pink tip of it, but I could have envisioned her licking me instead. The image was so sudden that I had to turn away before my face could betray me even further.
I busied myself in the backroom — pretending I was stocking up on supplies for the upcoming lunch rush — until I heard the bell clang above the door.
And she was gone when I came back out.
A part of me flooded with relief.
Another part wondered if I might have been bold in any other scenario where she had looked at me with those dark eyes full of mischief.
But I wouldn’t know, would I? She had had her fun — or so I thought.
Until the next day.
I didn’t have a shift to work, but I came to pick up my paycheck from the owner as I did every Wednesday like clockwork.
As if by magic, she was waiting for me — this time wearing a gauzy yellow dress paired with wedge sandals. Her dark hair fluttered in the breeze as she kicked off the shop wall and walked towards me.
I’ll never tell you what she said — it would burn your ears, as it did mine — but let’s just say that I had never been more flabbergasted in my life.
She assured me it was okay, but I saw the sadness in her eyes as she pulled back and watched me.
She even took me by the hand, as if she wanted to lead me away, but I shrugged off her touch.
I couldn’t even look at her for a few moments.
I couldn’t imagine a girl like her saying those words as if they were just spare change to be thrown away.
“You don’t need to do something like that,” I ended up saying.
Then she smiled again and whispered how I was kind.
After —
Well.
There was no after.
Not for us.
A few weeks later, she was found with someone else — a guy who could have been her father — who had paid her for her services.
The quintessential good girl, the girl next door — wasn’t she worth more than that?
Who knew how many people had ravished her?
I knew why she did it.
She wanted to get out — get out of this town, get out of the culture of secrets and sins.
Now? No one will even speak her name.
I didn’t need to tell you who she was.
You thought you already knew because that’s the way you are and how you were taught.
You’re all the same.
But me? Maybe all I had wanted was to ravish that girl with love.
For more microfiction, you may enjoy the stories linked in the list below:
