#84 Afterimage

by Joyce MacDonald

There is a moment in the club when their shoulders touch, accidentally, before he steers the girl he’s dancing with away across the floor. She pretends not to notice either of these things, but she must be doing it badly because her friend, the pretty one, leans in and says, “Do you want me to break this bottle on his head?”

She laughs and tries not to let her eyes follow him, to where he sways with his calloused hands on some other woman’s hips. This was inevitable. Men don’t fall in love with her.

She lets the driving rhythm of the music take her away from her thoughts. For a beat there are no regrets, only movement and the flicker of the strobe lights.

This is a small town. Desire gutters out like burned-down candles at Mass, where she’ll see him next, on Sunday.


Sam Knight said...

You managed to make me see the whole little community very quickly, and think I have an idea of what is going on. Good job.

Flutterby said...

Love the imagery and the yearning!