Stripes of a Tiger

Her name was Casey. She was 23 years old and moved to New York about three weeks ago. I saw the moving truck drive up my street the day she arrived and couldn't help but check it out. She had hired movers- no friends to help her, and throughout the entire day she did not have anyone over to help set up the new apartment. From that moment on, I knew it was going to be easy.

I took my time. I needed to figure out where she shopped for groceries.

She lived on Greene and Irving. She looked like one of those "Trader Joe's" girls, but. She could easily shop at Associated or any of the bodegas and save herself a bunch of trouble. And she did in fact shop at Associated. At first she did not stray far from her block, being new to New York, but in about a week, she finally started wandering around Brooklyn.

She was pretty. Not model pretty, but just plain pretty, the kind that is not looked at in New York. Her nose was a little bunched up at the tip and she dressed like the girls in a GAP ad. But her blonde hair was always pretty in the sun, I thought, it flowed and sparkled when she walked. She always looked prettier outside, no matter what the climate was. I always thought March was a special month because a person could experience all four seasons in thirty-one days. If I were to ever have a girl I'd set out to find her in March, just so I knew what she looked like year-round.

Casey would eye some hipsters at Associated, they often towered over her, and most of their beards probably kept them from looking down to see her. I could be in there and she wouldn't look twice at me, she'd just think I was another Latino buying something for the old lady. She would look at them and sometimes they would smile, other times they wouldn't and she'd frown, and hold her breath as she passed them.

But that was three weeks ago.

As I thought about those moments, the way her smell would hit me if the breeze favored me, like fruits and... something else I always had a hard time placing, the twenty-seven seconds I would count from when she went into her building to when she flipped the lights open in her living room, I was interrupted with a jolt as the train stopped at Dekalb. I knew that Casey started getting ready the stop before, shuffling her bags into place and taking out her headphones and tucking them into her coat. I wasn't in the car with her, I was one up but I could see her through the windows. I got off at the same time as her and casually walked up the stairs staring at my phone. I got up the stairs opposite the ones Casey took and kept walking at her speed, only across the street from her. I had no reason to look at her because I knew she was going to make a left on Greene. And I was going to make a left on Greene too. The only thing I needed to make sure of was that I passed her before she got to her building at the end of the block. I picked up speed and fumbled in my pocket to get my cellphone ready. As I passed her I inhaled softly, her perfume smelled like orange juice and... cinnamon! That's what it was, canela. Three more steps and a strong heat surged right from my forehead and spread to every inch of my body, like always.

One

"BURP."

Fuck, there it goes again.

Two

Three

"Burp."

I felt Casey hold her breath.

Five.

I held mine trying to contain myself and before I knew it, I dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor and just as I did a lone burp shot out just at the same time. I was trying to cough. It was not a nice sound. I kept walking, hoping that Casey would take the bait for a solid five seconds. I turned around the moment I stepped past her building, assuming she hadn't seen my phone fall. But she was standing still at the spot where I had dropped it. I quickly breathed in and pretended to look for my phone on the ground.