Samaya and I

Samaya and I. 9.1k

I met her at Princess Pizza around three am, sitting quietly in a corner. Perhaps too quietly as her face was leaning forward, half-hidden by long midnight-black hair drooping from shoulder to table-top – longer strands dipping into a bowl of something or other. Sporting what appeared to be a trim young body, she also leaned heavily to the left, seeming about to fall either out of the booth or across the table, whichever came first.

For myself, I'd already gotten, paid for, and held a small pizza and was now searching for a good place to sit. Preferably not between nodding drunks and raucous noisy teenagers on the way home from some kiddie event.

I could have, like a couple in the ordering line, stood and watched her fall. Several grinning couples sitting near the young lady were doing just that, giggling while they waited for an eventual tumble.

Instead, I hurried forward -- to their evident dislike and a few low "hoots" -- passing their tables to plop my old butt down in her booth. Smiling at the teenagers, I turned, even as the girl finally lost her balance and fell against my shoulder. Suddenly not interested, their anticipated entertainment aborted, they turned back to do whatever teens do at that hour of the morning.

Jolted awake, the dark-haired lady stiffened against my shoulder, one hand coming up to shove at me while angry achromatic eyes drilled into mine, only inches from hers.

"What the fuc--"

"Saving your ass from a tumble, honey."

Those midnight-black orbs stayed with mine for a full minute as the woman gradually came to her senses and evaluated her position. Meanwhile, I stared back and waited.

"Thanks ... I think." Shaking her head, she scooted over a foot or so and straightened up. As she did, that luscious long hair rose from its resting place in a partial-bowl of chili, to slap against a pale-yellow blouse at breast-level, leaving a wide stain on the clothing.

Still staring at me, she subconsciously rubbed the strands, grabbing them to sling over a dainty girlish shoulder, chili dripping throughout the process.

"You trying to pick me up? You're wasting your time. I'm still not that easy, least not yet."

"You say not yet? You mean I should give you a few hours, or a day or so?"

"Not at all for senile old fools like you."

"Speaking of fools...." I pointed a finger at her blouse.

"Oh, my god. You do that?"

"Guess again."

"Fuck it! Fuck the whole fucking, fucking thing. Fuck life, fuck you and, most of all, fuck me." Angrily, she pounded both fists onto the table, spilling the soup, most of it going down onto her lap. "Oh! Oh, my sweet Jesus. I -- I can't take any more of this shit. I just can't. Anger turned to tears, resulting in her dropping head and both forearms down into the mess, not seeming to notice.

Surprised at that reaction, I shook my own head. Soaking a few napkins in a foam water glass, I reached over to help her clean herself. Mental alarms "dinging", I changed my mind to hand them to her.

The girl cried for a moment, finally feeling her face with a delicate hand, incidentally spreading "you know what" around even more.

"Thanks for the pleasant thought," I countered, "but you're at least ten years too late." I grinned at her. "I still have the will, but lack the energy or juice. 'Fraid we'd be wasting our time."

She took the wad of wet napkins and giggled. "You proly' are," she said.

Meanwhile the teenagers and a sprinkling of other customers were calling out jibes and having a good time. Until, that is, the manager came out to quiet them.