EPTCourse, I'd known her for a while. She was the quiet, studious Chinese girl who always sat in the front row. She probably didn't know me though, given that I was the dude who slept in the back.
Anyhow, there I was, trying my best to stay awake and not miss my stop, when I saw her stumble aboard at the Western stop.
She sat across from me and didn't notice. Then she stood up and began to yell.
I wasn't sure what she was yelling about. I looked around to see if she had a friend with her who could take of her.
Nope.
When I'd asked my first girlfriend out on my first date, I'd started the phone call by asking if she was alone.
Isn't everybody, was her answer. Charlene was amazing. Probably spoiled me.
But back to Sal. She lasted two stops before the attendant escorted her off the train car. I followed.
I still don't remember why. Maybe I thought I could be a gentleman?
Nah, who am I kidding.
We walked for two blocks east, towards the lake. She was alternating between leaning against me and doing pirouettes in her heels.
I had to catch her once or twice. Okay, maybe a little more than once or twice. We were young and drunk. Or she was. I don't really remember.
I asked her where she lived.
"Morgan Towers," she blurted into my ear. She was leaning against me now. I could smell all the cosmopolitans she'd had.
I looked towards the lake. A half-circular cylinder stretching up to the sky, soft blue glow. "Like an erect..." I turned around. Now she was giggling like crazy.
Sometime during all of this, it had begun to rain. I pulled her close. Her striped shirt under the black denim jacket was now semitransparent. "Guess we'll just have to do laundry when I get home." More giggling.
I should probably back up a bit and tell you how she looked. She was five foot eight, 32B-24-34, and probably weighed about one hundred pounds dripping wet. Oh, and she had big eyes and ringlets that looked like they belonged on a 1940s movie star.
In short, she was way out of my league. But alcohol is man's best friend, I guess.
I know her measurements, because I ended up doing the laundry.
I found the opened bottle on the kitchen counter the next morning. It was orange, plastic, and she started crying when she saw me looking at it. AZT, anti-retrovirals.
Thank God I kept a condom in my wallet.
Oh shit.
I felt around my pockets, felt the sharp edge of the foil packet. It was still there.
Now we're sitting in bed, and I'm using her laptop to type this, and I'm not talking to her, and she's not talking to me.
We're watching a dating show. The host asks one of the contestants if she's ever kept a secret from her boyfriend. I look at Sal. Sal looks back at me. I say fuck it, and kiss her again.
). Just my two cents.
