Noelia

He met her outside the grocery store. She was walking out with a paper bag in her arms. They shared a small glance. Her eyes were deep and dark with the aura of an old forest. They struck him. And he turned back and jogged after her waving her down. She stopped and begin to take off the blue surgical mask everyone was required to wear at that time with her free hand. Her posture was odd. There was a long curve to it like that of a Japanese long bow.

She was 18 so they couldn’t go to the bar together and it was too late in the day for a cafe. They agreed to share a cigarette on the steps of the small park nearby. His secret stairs he told her. There they talked about life and music. She was a kind and generous girl. She took to him well and trusted him and he used that kindness as a surface to press into, to break their report. She was struggling to open a box of candies and he took them from her. He opened it and reached over to offer her one. When she reached for it he popped it into his mouth with great satisfaction. An old and delightful trick. Again he offered the candy and again stole it away.

“Okay seriously though,” he said to her offering another piece, then promptly eating it himself.

She tackled him the forth time. Successfully ripping it from his hand. She was quick. And she threw it into her mouth proving to him that she could.

“Hey, give that back.”

“Take it from me.” She said.

He grabbed her and kissed her for a long 10 seconds. Then pushing her away and looking off at the tops of skyscrapers, talking about meaningless things. She stared at him intently. He smiled and handed her the small box.

“Let’s go back to mine and listen to some music.” He said to her after enough time had passed.

“Okay, but we’re not having sex.” She said.

He laughed.

When they arrived at his place he left her in the main room and went to the bathroom. A customary tradition he’d learned so as to not make her feel pressured. She would have the space to run out the front door if she needed, although it had never happened. When he came out he found her flipping through the books on the shelf. He walked up behind her and placed a hand on her hip.

“Pick out three.” He told her and then went over to his chair.

She took her time and grabbed three authors. He examined her choices: Bukowski, Henry Miller, and Balzak. All of them were excellent selections and he told her so truthfully. He was impressed. She sat down in his lap cuddling into the nave of his chest. He took the Miller book from the three and instructed her to put the other two back and to grab the speaker remote. The sound of a Lenard Cohen album came on. She cooed. She liked the songs. Then she picked some songs of a simalar temper. Music he had not heard before. Good music that he liked. He picked her up and explained tango to her.

“You lean like this,” planking with a hand on the wall, “and we walk.”

He took her in his arms and began forward. She followed intently.

“Good. Now when I step, drag your feet and push me back. I’ll step and with your step you’ll say ‘make me.’” He demonstrated the resistance.

She danced well enough for a first time. He felt her weight, the pressure between them. He took her face into his hands and he kissed her. Her mouth seemed to hop on top of him, to want to prove something.

“What are you doing?.. feel it. There’s no rush.”

And he kissed her again but she still squirmed. They resumed dancing. The blues notes of the gutair were thick and stretched. The phrases were short and simple, building upon, repeating. He removed her shirt, kissed her, and then her jeans.

She stood there still and silent, frozen as a fawn come face to face with a predator. He worked slowly and methodically. Then he picked her up and carried her to his bedroom. When he laid her down her eyes were rummaging. And seeing this he picked her back up and returned her to the main room. He held her, danced her. She calmed down, relaxing into the fray of music and dimming light in the window. Seeing she was ready, he picked her up again and took her to bed.

When he was finished she held tightly to him. Staring at his face. He stared at the wall and felt the smoothness of her naked legs. She kissed him on the cheek.

“Go get that book.” He told her.

She brought it back to them and he read to her in the dying light. Her body glued to him like a young cub hugging the neck of its mother. Staring, breathing, warm skin, sultry, velvet, eyes dark as eight balls.