Charlotte rested comfortably in the bar. She leaned back gently and the bench at her table, letting her long blond hair flow freely down between her seat and the wall. She drank from her mug and glanced around the room to see who was there and if anyone was taking any notice of her. If anyone was she would acknowledge him casually, if at all, to disguise her eagerness to meet someone new.

 Earlier that day, Charlotte couldn't wait. She dreamed of finding a man to whom she could grow close. Her fantasies about him occupied the afternoon. They would run together in the fields outside of town. He would chase her for a while until she decided to let him catch her. They would both collapse in the tall grass, laughing and out of breath. There, under the warm sun and in a cool breeze, their childhood game would turn to passion, and they would spend the afternoon partaking in the pleasures of being in love.

 In the bar that night she did attract attention. A somewhat lonely man, wondering why a woman so beautiful was sitting alone, walked over to her table and greeted her.

 "Hi, may I sit here?"

 Charlotte nodded affirmatively. Inside she was excited but made sure not to show it. She felt a little nervous also, and perhaps a little bit scared.

 "Mind if I say you look beautiful tonight?"

 "No.", she paused and smiled, "Thank you."

 That night she was dressed to thrill, wearing red and black in a manner to accent her blond hair and light skin. Her make-up was put on in just the right proportions and after many painstaking steps. She was pleased with his compliment.

 "So, um, how has your day been?", he asked.

 "It's been O.K. A little slow, but O.K."

 "That's nice. Mine's been rather good. A funny thing happened today at the shop where I work. Would you like to hear it?"

 "Sure."

 As he began his story, her mind began to wonder. The conversation was warming up, but the fear inside her was growing larger.

 "...and then my boss came over and said 'well what are all these boxes doing lying around here', and then..."

 She thought, "Could he love me? Does he care about love? Does he want me just because of my looks?"

 "...one of the customer's kids was playing around here and I guess he did it, I said. And my boss said, 'well clean it up'..."

 "Maybe he just wants me to brag about, and to show off to his friends.", Her fear was joined by anger with this thought, "I can never let that happen to me again."

 "...my boss comes back to me while I was still cleaning up the mess and asks 'the customer can't find his kid, have you seen him?', No, I said..."

 Charlotte was now locked deep in thought, "I can't let anyone control me, or use me for any purpose."

 "...but when I finished cleaning up the boxes, who do you think is under them? Yeah, the customer's kid grinning and giggling. His mother had been in a blind fit for the past ten minutes looking all over the store for him. I couldn't help it. I just started laughing also." He looked over at Charlotte to see if see enjoyed his story, but to his dismay she stared right back at him without even a grin.

 "And, um, my boss thought it was just juvenile, but I liked it.", he continued skeptically.

 "Do you want to come over to my place?", she asked, still with her hard stare.

 "Uh...", he was shocked by her sudden change of pace. He wondered exactly what kind of woman she was. "Um, well, actually there's this, uh, party I was going to and uh," What a poor excuse, he thought to himself.

 She turned away from him and took a drink from her mug.

 He decided this was a good time to leave.

 She heard him get up and leave the bar. She relaxed now that the heat was off, only now she was beginning to get depressed.

 "Why are men so afraid of me?", she pondered. The more she thought, the sadder she became, "They always want a female, but never a woman."

 She stayed at the bar until it closed that night and walked slowly home in her sadly depressed state. She was asking many questions for which she had no answers. And after this long day was over, she lay down in her bed exhausted, with only the enfolding arms of sleep to hold her.

© Veyanne - 1999