Saturday, November 7, 2009

#11 Touched

He grabbed her so fast that his partner sat stunned at how quickly this large man had moved. Pulling the car over onto the shoulder of the road, he stopped abruptly and ordered his friend to release her at once.

The three of them were returning home from a meeting. She sat in the back seat and the two men sat in the front. They were going over the evening’s events, recalling conversations with each detailing their experiences. As she spoke she reached out and touched the large man ahead of her on the shoulder as an emphasis to her point of the conversation.

Now standing outside of the car, he began pacing back and forth as he tried to find the words to explain his actions to his partner.

“Look at me.” he spoke softly. His partner did not hear him and asked him to repeat himself. “Look at me!” he screamed while gesturing to his face.

She quietly rolled down her window while looking straight ahead instead of looking out at the men.

“There have only been two women in my life who have ever touched me. One was my mother and I married the other woman because I didn’t think anyone else would ever touch me.”

“All night long," he said, glancing at the car, "Whenever she talked to me, she would touch me.”

His partner looked up at him and calmly said, “Guy, she is really short and you are really tall. How else could she get your attention?”

”I was thinking that too. But just now, in the car, she touched me again. So I thought it meant she wanted me.”

“Maybe she is Italian. You know how they talk with their hands.”

He turned and kneeled down at her window.

“Are you Italian?”

“Could be.” she said as she sat on her hands.

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