She Thinks I Still Care

She sat at the bar between two “Cowboys”.

I put Cowboy in quotes because I don't think most of them knew much about real cowboy stuff.

I strolled up to the bar and sat beside her on a red upholstered stool .

One of the Cowboys looked at me.

I didn't want any trouble, and I figured he was probably drunk, “Something wrong?” I said.

“Not with me.” he responded.

The Cowboy on her left sat for a moment or two, looked a little disappointed, and went to sit in one of the booths near the dance floor.

She looked at me, Damn, I thought, why does she have to look so good?

Her blue-eyes struck into my brain, her blonde-hair was piled high and came down below her shoulders.

I gazed back into her eyes “I love you.” I said quietly.

“I know, you do, Michael.”

I saw lots of white between her pupils and the mascaraed lower lashes. Bedroom eyes.

I had kind of “saved her” a couple of nights ago.

I had been visiting the kids, and we talked.

She said, nonchalantly.

“I met a cop. We're going out tomorrow night.”

“ I don't know, maybe you out to get to know him before you go out with him.”

“He's a cop, Michael. What can he do? It's safe.”

“Some cops suffer from stress. It's an extremely grueling job.”

She smiled and ran her pink tongue over her moist, red lips, “He strikes me as very competent.

I think it'll be alright.”

The night of the date she called.

“Michael, I'm in Watts. Could you come get me?”

She gave me the address, I flew to pick her up in the Ranchero.

The cop had told her to “give it up” or he would drop her off in Watts.

I thanked G-d as I saw her on the corner.

Several adolescents were looking at her approvingly.

She wore an extremely short min-skirt, a low cut blouse and high heels.

I screeched to a stop next to her and she climbed in gratefully.

And gracefully.

I guess my reward for “saving “her was tonight's date.

We walked towards my apartment on Sunset near Echo Park Avenue.

We held hands, like we used to.

How did I ever let her get away? I asked myself.

The woman of my dreams had walked in my door, had given herself to me, and I had lost her.

As we got near the apartment a groups of Hispanic punks started whistling and making dirty remarks.

I pulled a bottle of coke from a bag I was carrying and grasped it.

It wasn't my favorite weapon, the neck is too short, but I figured it would do.

I walked towards the punks, feeling loose and charged up.

And angry.