Saturday's Storyteller: "She looked radiant in the streetlight..."

by Belinda Roddie

She looked radiant in the streetlight, sucking on a long cigarette, her beautiful knees peeking out from the holes in her jeans. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, carry her off to somewhere dark and warm and dry and kiss her until my lips got chapped. From a distance, however, all I could do was watch.

Her name was Astrid Arkin, and she made both men and women swoon. With her hair cropped around her ears and sweeping across her forehead, she looked like someone had painted her during the grunge era of the nineties. She would have fit in playing bass or drums for Nirvana. She wore piercings on her ears and nose and mouth like they were natural skin decorations. Beneath her torn denim vest was a T-shirt emblazoned with a sinister looking guitar, the words screaming, "My Favorite Axe" from her slender chest. Everyone who walked by gawked at her, even the ones holding hands. No one seemed to feel envy about others staring; he or she just enjoyed the view.

I said nothing, feeling small in my beaten up sneakers and hooded sweatshirt. I was short, scrawny, and very plain. My hair was cut short, too, but it was greasy, even though I washed it every day with what I deemed the best shampoo for my budget. I swiveled my way around the lamp post, thinking that Astrid would ignore me once again. She did, and I kept walking.

I stopped by the store on my way home and was about to buy a shitty can of blackberry beer when Astrid showed up again. She was done with her cigarette, and now she was buying scratch tickets and a cheap Dominican Republic cigar for her to nibble on throughout the night. I couldn't help it. I strolled over to the counter and slapped down a twenty.

"Give her a fucking Cuban. The actually good stuff," I said to the shopkeeper who barely spoke English. And then I was on my way.

This week's prompt was provided by Kyle Oathout.