My Cardboard Balcony

The Way You Looked by Belinda Roddie The way you looked at me was like you caught a field mouse within your falcon's eye. You didn't stop your gaze, not even when I paid my check for dinner and headed to the bar for a drink (or maybe two). You did not leave. You bought more wine. I thought you wanted to kill me from your icy stare of unprecedented annoyance. But as you sipped, you started writing on a tired napkin with a fountain pen, perusing every inch of my figure and making notes that I can never read, and I could not decide if I should be sincerely scared, or flattered immens'ly.

Half a minute later, half his glass was empty, the warm beer dribbling out of the corner of his mouth and creating a thick stain on his white shirt. He kept staring at the fuzzy screen - where Alex Trebek was chastising a contestant for an incorrect answer on geography - but didn't make a sound. I tried to look at him head-on, but I just couldn't. His eyes wept too much. And I didn't want to add to the crying.