Annoyed Delight | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Annoyed Delight | Previous Challenge Entry
By Arlene Baker
01/29/10
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His sleek limo drew up to the convenience store/gas station, overfilling the tiny parking lot. My mind jumped from worry over unpaid bills to annoyance at the car’s length and how other customers would have a hard time maneuvering around it.

The back door opened, unattended, and the rider stepped out. My breath caught and froze in my throat. Adonis, Prince Charming and the Ultimate Male all packaged in tailored comfort strode towards the door, opened it and moved to the cooler section. Moments later he brought two chocolate milks to my counter.

I rang them up in silence, head bowed to my task. When I lifted my eyes to give him the total, he drew a breath sharp into himself.

“Oh my dear. What lovely eyes you have. So blue and clear and…perfect.”

My stunned mind refused to process the compliment. First, why would this rich somebody talk to poor nobody me? Second, my work attire wouldn’t attract a lonely fly, let alone a man.

Our gaze met, held and locked. Time stopped. Worry fled. I, insignificant-cashier-of-a-gas-station-convenience-store ceased to know who I am.

“Please,” he coaxed with a smile as broad as Texas and teeth as white as Montana snow. “Come away with me.” He held out his bronzed hand.

Reality vanished as I lost myself in his gaze. Dumbly I placed my chilled un-manicured hand in his large, warm one and allowed him to lead me to his limo. He opened the door, ushered me in, slid next to me and closed the door behind us.

“Drive on,” he said with a cheery wave. The driver asked for no directions. Perfect Man offered none.

Within moments, we pulled up to a Tudor-styled mansion, black beams stark against gleaming white. I followed my tender captor into the house and down a long, spacious hallway. He opened a far door, and stepped aside, allowing me to precede him.

A lone wine-colored loveseat adorned the room, facing a wall-sized screen. “Sit,” he invited, before joining me on the couch. With a gentle snap of fingers, and a movie began.

I gasped, its sound loud and echoing in the room, as my life from birth to present rolled by. He grasped my hand. When I lied, he squeezed it. When someone lied to me, he held it harder. My misdeeds, others’ misdeeds against me, happy times, sad times, embarrassing times all rolled, tumbling together like the Niagara, across the screen. Every hope and dream exposed. His grasp on my tainted hand never lessened. The movie ended, showing us sitting on the loveseat in the same room. I turned to him for explanation.

“Come,” he beaconed again. We moved to a side door and into another room. Gold velvet blanketed every wall, warming and illuminating the bareness. We sat together on another loveseat, of gold crushed-velvet.

Another snap of fingers. Another movie. His life. His hopes and dreams. Suddenly my figure waltzed onto the screen.

My back stiffened. My hands clenched. How did I get there? Why was I there? He placed an arm about me, pulling me back against him, giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“Ah,” his contented sigh bushed my ear. “This is my favorite part.”

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