He stand there. Waiting. Watching. For who? He stands among others, yet he stands out. There is no other like him, yet he is normal. He wears a black pin stripped suit. His shirt looks whiter than white. His hair looks perfect. Every strand has its own place and is holding it well.
I have been looking at him for a few minutes. I look at my watch. It is a plain watch with only the numbers twelve, three, sex and nine present. It is nine-thirty. I arrived a half hour ago. I am alone. I am by myself. I am lonely. I look at the man sitting in front of me. He is still talking. Why is he still talking? What is he talking about? I listen for a minute and realize he is talking about politics. Why is he talking about politics to me? I don't care what an Irish man like him thinks about U.S. politics. Just because I am from the U.S. does not mean I want to travel this vast world with people judging me by who my president is. I don't judge him because of his ruler. Why am I being judged?
I remember why I had stopped listening to him before. I look back at him. The man. The one sitting by himself. He is very handsome. Dark brown hair, fair skin, and freckles. I only wish I could see his eyes. I can only imagine how sexy they are. I want him to look at me. I will for him to feel my eyes on him. How badly I want those eyes on me. But all my willing has no affect on him. This perfect angel does not look my way. If only.
I tell the man talking about how wrong politics are in the U.S. that I need to go to the little girl's room. He seems unaffected by this and walks over to another woman and starts to talk to her. She must be American too because he seems to start the same conversation up with her. I walk across the bar and sit down next to him. I am so nervous. He still hasn't looked at me. I want him to look at me so bad. I clear my throat.
"Hello," I say trying to catch his attention. He looks over at me. My heart skips a beat. He is so beautiful. He looks back at something I can't seem to see. He steps a bit away from me. He does not want to talk to me. Am I really that repulsive?
"Sorry," I murmur as I walk away. I walk out of the bar. I am pissed. How can he treat me like that? I can be so craved by fools I do not want and not even acknowledged by the ones I do like. Where does he get off dismissing me so easily. He barely looked at me before he made that small gesture that assured me he was not interested in the smallest bit.
I am standing in the parking lot. It is cold outside, but I haven't seemed to notice. Or I am just too mad to care. I walk to my car. It is a dark blue corvette. It is my dream car. I saved up for four years for this car. Its custom paint job. Its upgraded engine, and well, everything they said I could upgrade. I wanted the best of the best. I would not settle for anything less. The price was high, but I was willing to pay. I was able to pay the entire car off. I smiled when I told my parents I wanted to bring it with me to London. They were not happy I will tell you that. It cost a bit of money to bring the car with me, but so far it has proven its worth. I have been driving around the UK for a while and plan to leave Ireland next week and return home. This vacation this year was amazing.
My mind tries to trail off on all the wonderful things I did this year in the UK, but I can't stop letting my mind wonder back to him. The man who stands in the crowd. The one who has rejected me.
I sigh and get into the car. I go to put my purse on the seat next to mine. But he is sitting there. He is in my car. He is watching me. My heart stops. He is in my car.
