Blind Date #1
by Ruth Atkinson
He has seen her before in that dress, shy girl, hand just so, eyes into space. He has seen her before, turning so fabric leans into the contours of a shape leaning now, waiting for him.
He shakes with knowing she has abluted, perfumed, dressed in limegreen for him. There is the same underarm sweattrickle stain; he has watched his own lateness during her halfhour twist on the barstool.
Rushes to her, rushes to tell her - I have seen you before. And the mask breaks over terror. In her head - he has seen me I exist when I am not there. She runs in existential confusion where the eye of his mind had seen only zips and slithering of fabric to floor, the sweat they could generate together.
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