Post-Hypodermic Musings

    The slight sting began to subside as I shifted in the chair.  Across the desk from me, typing away at her computer, sat Kim.  I had always described her as female perfection with just a hint of punk-rock goddess.  Her beauty easily rivaled that which inspired Poe’s “To Helen” and the ancient, Greek namesake thereof.  Her hair glistened an unnatural shade of red, bordering on metallic.  Her ears had no less than three piercings to each and ivy tattoos encircled her right wrist and left bicep.  All her fingers were adorned with rings (including thumbs) save the all important one.  An elongated face gave her the appearance of haughtiness; an appearance reinforced by her presently, perfunctory attitude.  Fortunately, I knew her well enough to see the warmth and intellect that her gorgeous, albeit arrogant, features belied.

    Having completed her typing, she turned her attention towards me and said, “Ten bucks.”

    A bemused thought occurred to me as I reached for my wallet.  “Typical woman,” I said.
   
    Kim crossed her arms as a half-smile played across her face.  “How’s that?”
   
    “You hurt me, hit me up for cash, and then send me on my way,” I replied as I held out a ten.

    Kim reached out and snatched the bill from me, a wry grin complimenting the playful, flirtive glint in her eye.

    “Well, that’s your fault for picking the wrong women,” she chided.

    As the money disappeared into a desk drawer, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had just been dropped a hint.  I had always found women to revel in subtlety and innuendo, perhaps this was another example.  I tried to search those luxuriously brown eyes, which had refocused on the computer screen, for some sign.

    In the midst of my search, I suddenly found myself aware of the room’s incense:  an intoxicating bouquet of chemically enhanced flora.  I truly hadn’t noticed the fragrance upon my arrival.  It took me but a nanosecond to realize the aroma’s origin.  I stared at the object of my interest all the more attentively, but, alas, remained unable to discern Kim’s intentions.

    Idly, I pondered if my suddenly recognizing her perfume represented the sign I had been looking for.  Perhaps fate had stepped in.  Whether the will of God or merely drug-induced, wishful thinking, I set myself to exploring the scant possibility that something existed here.  During my decisive interval, my eye had wandered to Kim’s fingers.  I watched as they danced across the keyboard once more.

    Without warning or hesitation, I reached out and gently took her hand in mine.  I used my thumb to caress her sole, exposed digit.  I dared not look at her face, for her reaction to this untoward gesture may have deterred me from my course of action.  Instead, I examined her hand as I said, “You really should finish out your collection.  Balance makes for a good life and symmetry makes for good aesthetics.”

    “Are you offering?” she asked with far more alacrity and far less trepidation than I would have expected.

    I dared to face her then.  Her expression reflected both anxious reservation and eager interest.  I had apparently been right about her hint-dropping.  This fact bolstered me as I continued in my endeavor.  “And if I were?” I quizzed.

    “I’d say that it might be best if we started with going to dinner,” she answered coyly.

    “Dinner works for me, just so long as we go out on a Saturday night.”

    Her eyebrows jumped slightly in reaction to my prerequisite.  “Okay.  Why so adamant about Saturday?”

    “Balance and symmetry.  You see, it can’t be just any Saturday night.  It has to be a certain time of the year, too.”

    As expected, she shook her head in incomprehension and every fiber of her being begged me to expand on my statement.  I happily obliged her as I continued to cradle her hand in mine.

    “It starts with a Saturday night, in and of itself,” I began, “the very nature of the night has an electricity you can feel in the air.  That electricity is the anticipation of the evening’s festivities, whatever they may happen to be.

    “Now, you can feel this electricity on any given Saturday, during the year,” I continued, “But during the summer, everything’s too busy.  There’s so much activity, so many things going on with the birds, and the insects, and all the little critters running around, that you only get the smallest taste of the current.  Not to mention the way Philadelphia humidity has a way of sucking the energy out of most everything exposed to it.  That’s why the perfect time is on a Saturday in the fall or winter.

    “The brisk cold keeps one awake and alert.  At the same time, it also makes one seek some form of heat.  Preferably, the warmth of a close and loving companion.  So, while raising the consciousness, one feels all the more compelled to partake in heat-generating activities, whatever they may be.  Hence the balance of wintery, Saturday nights:  the perfect date nights.”

    By this time, she leaned far forward in her seat, studying my face, just as I leaned far forward in my chair, studying her glorious visage.  Our hands had come to be interlocked across the desk.

    “I see,” she replied, “How fortunate we’re in the middle of November.”

    “Most fortunate, indeed,” I concurred.

    “But if that’s the balance, what’s the symmetry?”

    I could feel myself blushing a bit as I broke eye contact and shuffled my way toward answering the question.

    “Well, the symmetry is the trickiest thing to achieve.  See, the symmetry of a date doesn’t even always occur.  When it does, well, it comes from the way two human forms, of the opposite sex, can so perfectly compliment one another in certain...  positions.”

    I returned my gaze to hers sheepishly, trying to keep the smile on my face look bemused, but not nervous.  To my delight, she regarded me with a knowing and unoffended smile.

    “Oh, I see,” she said, as she tilted her head to one side in that way that only women can, “So, do you have any plans for this upcoming, wintery, Saturday night?”

    I fought my urge to jump in and assure her that I had nothing whatsoever planned for that Saturday, not wanting to appear too eager and blow the whole suave approach I had been employing up to that point.  Instead, I feigned consideration for a moment, and then told her, “I should be free.”

    She must have caught onto my game, and decided to play along, as she came back with, “Well, I actually think I’ve already got an engagement that night...”

    Her gaze fell away from me as she went into thought, leaving me to brace myself for the impact of ultimate rejection.

    “But I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t blow off,” she finished as she once again locked eyes with me.  Her face alighted with that playful spiritedness that only comes when one has skillfully left one’s opponent dangling in despair, only to pull them safely back upon the ledge of hope.  Kim obviously had a great deal of experience at this game.  A fact I found curiously arousing.

    Not willing to be outdone, I countered with, “Well, I guess I’d better give you your hands back so you can give me your phone number.”

    I gently released her hands and stared deep into her eyes, which stared back unwavering.  Without looking, she pulled a card and pen from the desk drawer.  She glanced down at the card only briefly, keeping her primary focus on me.  When she had written her name and number down, she extended the card towards me and I accepted it.

    “I’ll expect to hear from you tonight,” she warned as she leaned back in her chair.

    “Shouldn’t be a problem,” I teased, “Eight o’clock good for you?”

    “Perfect,” she said, not quite managing to keep that self-satisfied and exhilarated tone, the kind that only occurs in anticipation of an important date, out of her voice.

    I was both flattered and enticed by this.  I sat forward in my seat, intent on starting up a conversation that we would surely finish later that night, when my impatient and ill-mannered friend, Mike, poked his head into the office.

    “Yo, dude,” Mike said, “you almost done or what?”

    I gave him a look that could have killed and he noticed, as did Kim.

    “Don’t worry,” Kim reassured me, “we can discuss how to achieve that balance, you talked about, later tonight.”

    “And what about the symmetry?” I queried in true James Bond fashion.

    A bemused and slightly chiding look crossed Kim’s face as she replied, “Let’s see how well we do with the balance and go from there, okay?”

    “Fair enough,” I conceded as I slowly stood up, careful not to put too much pressure on my achingly sore leg; the reason I had come to the doctor’s office in the first place.

    Mike, completely out of the loop yet somehow failing to realize such, showed his immense lack of tact as he blurted out, “What the hell are you two talking about?”

    Kim and I exchanged knowing glances and smiles.

    “Medical stuff, Mikey, nothing you’d be interested in,” I lied, “Let’s get going.”  To Kim, I said, “I’ll talk to you later.”

    “You’d better.”

    And with that, I exited the office and entered the waiting room once more, allowing the door that separated the two rooms to slowly close behind me.  Before the door closed, I couldn’t keep my eyes off that amazing example of female perfection with just a hint of punk rock goddess.  The feeling seemed mutual as our eyes stayed locked until the door obscured our respective views of the other.

    Mike brought me back from my reverie with, “Jesus Christ, man!  How long does it take to get a goddamned penicillin shot?!”

    I gave Mike an annoyed look as I limped towards the door, the gash and subsequent infection that had taken root in my right leg making the journey excruciating.  [My condition had rendered me unable to drive, hence Mike’s presence as my chauffeur.]  As my condition was such, driving was all but impossible.  Hence Mike’s presence as my chauffeur.  [A presence I wished I could have done without.]

    “And don’t give me this bullshit about ‘medical stuff.’  You and the nurse chicky were talking about something else and I know it,” Mike continued.

    I stopped and turned to face him, “You’re right, Mike, we were discussing balance and symmetry as they apply to human sensibilities.”

    A disgusted look passed over Mike’s face.  “Ugh.  Egghead stuff.  Man, how many times I gotta tell you to lay off with that shit.  It won’t get you anywhere with the babes.  I never knew antibiotics could affect your judgement.  No wonder you were there so long.  Couldn’t get her to take the bait no matter how you threw it out, huh?”

    I just shook my head and continued on my way to the door, wanting nothing more than to put Mike’s idiotic remarks behind me and focus on the far more pleasing thoughts of my impending phone conversation and eventual date with Kim.  But before I had passed through the door that opened unto the street, I said, over my shoulder, “Mike, you go after the wrong kind of women.”