came out ol’ spo-huht .
Dressed in a colorful skirt and silky blouse, she leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss, closing her eyes, then opening them slowly, as if the touch of our lips had melted her heart.
“I could get used to that,” she said. Then after another quick peck on my nose, she slipped into the booth across from me, her hair shimmering in the overhead lights with an ethereal shade of dark blue.
But the moment she sat down, her eyes dimmed, and her expression fell, maybe not that noticeable to someone else but quite noticeable to me. Normally, her porcelain-smooth face carried the exuberance of a woman who harbored a never-ending fountain of good news with eagerness to share it.
I wiped nervous palms on my slacks and placed my elbows on the table, giving her my full attention. I asked her the usual questions, and slowly she relaxed to her normal self. When I placed my hands on the table, she grabbed them with both of hers and squeezed. “Oh, Stephen! We’re both going to New York.” But then her expression dimmed again, as if struggling against something bigger than either of us.
“Everything okay?” I finally asked. After another reflective moment, she shook her head as if she could hide it no longer. Her eyes watered and she sniffed softly.
“What is it?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.” She glanced at her watch. “Where’s Donna?”
“Donna’s not coming.”
She looked confused. Donna always joined us on Friday nights. Alice swallowed, then forced an unsuccessful smile.
I matched her smile, then foolishly proceeded with my original plans. While the words I’d rehearsed that morning seemed inappropriate in the glare of her current hesitant and distracted frame of mind, I took a deep breath anyway and stammered out with, “I have something for you.”
That was my big line, about as romantic as a dish drainer. Her eyes widened as I removed the box from my pants pocket. Turning it toward her, I gently opened it. Her eyes settled on the ring, and then closed shut. “Oh, Stephen…”
I set the box down and reached for her hand. Her eyes glistened. Figuring she was moved by the imminent proposal, I uttered the fateful words. “Alice … will you marry me?”
For an eternity, I waited. Her gaze lingered on mine. She let go of my hand and taking the ring box in her hands, she turned it, examined the ring, then shut the box, and handed it back.
“I wanted to marry you, but…”
Her words trailed off into nothing.
I was confused. Wanted?
Alice pursed her lips. She looked miserable.
Of course, I thought. I’m just a kid from Uglyville. How could I have been so stupid? Beautiful women don’t marry hard-luck stories….
In the awkward silence that followed, memories of my past came roaring back—the disdain in Cynthia’s eyes, the pity in Susan’s, the glaring contempt in Jim’s: Ain’t nothing a Whitaker touches that don’t turn to dust .
I sat back in the booth, my emotions reeling, unsure how to proceed. Alice swallowed again, appraising the obvious bewilderment in my eyes. She let out another long sigh, leaning back against the booth. I waited as she collected her thoughts. “Stephen…” She hesitated again, her eyes suddenly scrutinizing.
“What is it?”
“Do you love me?”
It was an absurd question. “I adore you,” I whispered, grabbing her hand, but she pulled away as if I’d answered incorrectly, her face a turmoil of emotions I couldn’t begin to understand. “Alice, why would you ask such a thing?”
She shrugged and looked away again. Biting her lower lip, she said, “I did something terrible.”
Terrible? I was confused again, and then her expression shifted, as if coming to a tumultuous but important decision.
“I wasn’t going to show you, but … now … now I can’t keep this to myself.”
She was already sliding out of the booth when a strange foreboding struck me. Where was she going? I lurched to the edge of the seat, and grabbed for
Dressed in a colorful skirt and silky blouse, she leaned over and gave me a lingering kiss, closing her eyes, then opening them slowly, as if the touch of our lips had melted her heart.
“I could get used to that,” she said. Then after another quick peck on my nose, she slipped into the booth across from me, her hair shimmering in the overhead lights with an ethereal shade of dark blue.
But the moment she sat down, her eyes dimmed, and her expression fell, maybe not that noticeable to someone else but quite noticeable to me. Normally, her porcelain-smooth face carried the exuberance of a woman who harbored a never-ending fountain of good news with eagerness to share it.
I wiped nervous palms on my slacks and placed my elbows on the table, giving her my full attention. I asked her the usual questions, and slowly she relaxed to her normal self. When I placed my hands on the table, she grabbed them with both of hers and squeezed. “Oh, Stephen! We’re both going to New York.” But then her expression dimmed again, as if struggling against something bigger than either of us.
“Everything okay?” I finally asked. After another reflective moment, she shook her head as if she could hide it no longer. Her eyes watered and she sniffed softly.
“What is it?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.” She glanced at her watch. “Where’s Donna?”
“Donna’s not coming.”
She looked confused. Donna always joined us on Friday nights. Alice swallowed, then forced an unsuccessful smile.
I matched her smile, then foolishly proceeded with my original plans. While the words I’d rehearsed that morning seemed inappropriate in the glare of her current hesitant and distracted frame of mind, I took a deep breath anyway and stammered out with, “I have something for you.”
That was my big line, about as romantic as a dish drainer. Her eyes widened as I removed the box from my pants pocket. Turning it toward her, I gently opened it. Her eyes settled on the ring, and then closed shut. “Oh, Stephen…”
I set the box down and reached for her hand. Her eyes glistened. Figuring she was moved by the imminent proposal, I uttered the fateful words. “Alice … will you marry me?”
For an eternity, I waited. Her gaze lingered on mine. She let go of my hand and taking the ring box in her hands, she turned it, examined the ring, then shut the box, and handed it back.
“I wanted to marry you, but…”
Her words trailed off into nothing.
I was confused. Wanted?
Alice pursed her lips. She looked miserable.
Of course, I thought. I’m just a kid from Uglyville. How could I have been so stupid? Beautiful women don’t marry hard-luck stories….
In the awkward silence that followed, memories of my past came roaring back—the disdain in Cynthia’s eyes, the pity in Susan’s, the glaring contempt in Jim’s: Ain’t nothing a Whitaker touches that don’t turn to dust .
I sat back in the booth, my emotions reeling, unsure how to proceed. Alice swallowed again, appraising the obvious bewilderment in my eyes. She let out another long sigh, leaning back against the booth. I waited as she collected her thoughts. “Stephen…” She hesitated again, her eyes suddenly scrutinizing.
“What is it?”
“Do you love me?”
It was an absurd question. “I adore you,” I whispered, grabbing her hand, but she pulled away as if I’d answered incorrectly, her face a turmoil of emotions I couldn’t begin to understand. “Alice, why would you ask such a thing?”
She shrugged and looked away again. Biting her lower lip, she said, “I did something terrible.”
Terrible? I was confused again, and then her expression shifted, as if coming to a tumultuous but important decision.
“I wasn’t going to show you, but … now … now I can’t keep this to myself.”
She was already sliding out of the booth when a strange foreboding struck me. Where was she going? I lurched to the edge of the seat, and grabbed for
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