Sugar on Jack: Day Two Hundred Eighty-Six


It is no small wonder that on a day full of emotions, I choose to focus on lust.

So, I think this is the last possible day that I will ever interact with the crush du jour, the quasi-criminal with the searching eyes and the self-amused expression.  Of course, long-term this is for the best, I guess, maybe, because he could be an asshole if I were to ever actually get to know him.  Hah, sigh, the comedy of tragic self-knowing.  The tragedy of self-amusement.   Short-term, unnnnnnnnngh.  You know, it’s rare in these days when I mostly hang out with septuagenarians who look over me like a placid, placating grandchild, to be around someone who turns your damn crank.  Whose crank you wouldn’t mind turning.  Who makes you forget for whole minutes at a time the laws and rules and biases that are against you and briefly, albeit only in the safety of your own mind, makes you just a girl who wants a boy.  With impolitic intent.

He came in late and I came in early, but there was a rush of desperate cries for help, work that needed attending to from the moment I got there so that I didn’t have time to do as planned which was to make the best of my bad face with a dab or five of makeup and so I had to make my expression one of apathy.  One where he was as of as much consequence to me as the length of blades of grass under the lawn furniture on the other side of the world.

Because I was all blemishes and lumpiness and messy ponytail and I thought about being vibrant and vital and funny and not worrying about the albatross that is this body, that it was all bullshit and impossible anyhow, so I shouldn’t even care.  But the thought of him would occupy my mind and it would corrode my apathy, erode my ability to stand stock-still and not allow my eyes to scan the periphery to see if he was still there.

I would walk down the road and think, babies…I would have his babies.  I would do perverse and terrible things with him and have a hundred thousand of his babies.  This is not a neutral state of mind.

He did stop me and ask me for my wristband like the rest of the madding crowd and on my work-related mission, I marched past him and said I had diplomatic status…immunity.  I was too far down the parking lot to stop and see if he laughed or even noticed.  Later, he spoke with boss and she joked with him about using his criminal past to help us poke holes in our limited security plan.  Then, I decided to work in the office and realized that was it.  That was my best attempt at converting the idea of an attraction into something legitimate and it was all blue on black.   It was no attempt at all.

Still, I think on those eyes that look at me like he’s reading me. Just a bit longer than you could say it was happenstance. I’m probably just an easy mark.  I probably give off all the desperation one could take.

And he will not be back around before the holidays, if then, he was here…for some reason of his own (if one doesn’t believe in doing things out of the goodness of one’s heart) and my leaving won’t change that.  Best I can do aside from go vote Republican until my eyes cross, is let current boss know, in a junior high sort of way, that I think he’s cute just to gather any intel she might have.  And then, add this cross to the stack and get to high-stepping.

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