Hunter's Chance

e i g h t e e n

I was never good in large crowds. The spotlight, if ever there was one, could never be on me. I still remember the first time that Mrs. Jones called me to the front of class. We were asked to memorize a poem, I don't remember it now, I hardly knew it then. Had it been song lyrics to any single from the 70's and I would've had it in the bag. Instead, there I stood, all eyes on me, as I was asked to recite it to the rest of the class. I stood still, frozen even, as I watched the beady eyes of my classmates size me up. There were whispers, giggles, and a few paper airplanes that took flight that day and me? Well, I never said a word. 

It wasn't that I was nervous. No, I didn't stand there quivering in my black Chuck Taylors, I didn't bite my nails, or stutter any of my words. They just left me. I searched and searched for them but they were no where to be found. So clearly vanished from my memory and I remember that being it. I remember that being the first time that I ever felt alone. Now, more than ever, it was most common for me to feel that way. To feel alone. I have bruises and scars and tiny tattoos of pain throughout my entirety and I've accepted that. I've had to. 

I liked to keep things simple and it was so natural for me now, so easy for me to avoid this type of situation. I found ways to dodge the intrusive questions, avoid confrontation I wanted no part of, and mostly I was buckled down and strapped in the comfortability of my own ways. I never had to worry about anyone or anything coming between me, myself, and I. 

Wes for one, was different. Things were easy, he never bothered asking questions. He was far from invasive and protective and ultimately, we had fun. It didn't hurt that he was tall and happened to smell good. Sure, he was the touchy-feely type but that never bothered me. 

James was anything but the same. For as long as I've known him, he's done nothing but challenge me. He asks questions and more often than not, it's the nitty gritty, real personal stuff. He's good-looking, a great kisser, and though I hate to admit it, I really kind of like him. 

So there I was, slightly intoxicated on the possibility that this was all a figment of my imagination. James and Wes struck conversation as I stood by watching, feeling slightly left out, as if I was missing out on something. I was fine with it, wasn't I? I knew that this day would come. I mean, I knew he would find me, I couldn't run forever. 

"Hey babe" Wes starts, sliding off the bar stool and making his way over to me. There is a pep in his step and an abnormally large smile on his face as he slides his arm through mine. "Where do you think you're going?"

He pulls me towards James, who by the looks of it, seems amused. I disregard the small smirk on his face and take a seat next to him. I subtly mouth the words 'I'm sorry' to him just as Wes scoots in behind me, wrapping his arms around the small of my waist. 

Ruby is wiping one of the small shot glasses into a white hand towel when Wes calls for her. If I know her at all, I know she's going to refuse to let him order me another drink. He may be old enough, but I'm still underage and with as many late nights as she's had with me, I know that she knows better. 

"Not happening," she starts, and that's all it takes for Wes to remove his hands from my waist. He begins following her down the bar trying his very best to sweet talk her into one more drink. I'm surprised at how strong-willed she is, I so easily fell for that sweet talk all those years ago, you'd think it was bullet proof. "She's cut off." She finishes. 

"Oh c'mon sugar," he pleads over the countertop, he's got the pouty lips and all. It's quite the show and I can't help but  laugh to myself. She stands with her hands on her hips and it's obvious to me that she's not going to change her mind. I don't think Wes has the slightest inkling of the past I've shared with Ruby.