Once in a Blue Moon

Franks soothing baritone voice started to spin a web of lies on the last night we had spent together. I remember the outside temperature reaching “90’ degrees, the tiny beads of sweat glistening on my forehand. I try to conceal feeling uncomfortable sitting in the smoke-filled Biker’s Bar. Our bodies are close together, Franks’ warm breath as he tenderly whispers in my ear. His right hand was massaging my thigh, the tingling sensation surging through my veins as I took a sip of his beer.

Amidst the noise, I leaned in closer, a whiff of his cologne, a traumatizing light Musk sent capturing my wild imagination of being on a deserted island somewhere. Frank’s laughter was light and airy as we shared the same drink with him trailing off about his day, the way lovers do.   Frank is outgoing while I am the shy, silent type, we were the perfect pair, always following his lead, while others would say that I was ‘submissive.’ I prefer the term helpmate, something that my mother had purposely drilled into me.

His lips brush against mine. The last kiss we shared as Frank excused himself, saying something about him needed to leave. Taking another sip, watching Frank walk out of the bar, questions started to pop up in my mind. Was there something that I had missed? “What was he talking about?” The bartender asked me if I want another, shaking my head. ‘No,’ I left and drove myself home to our apartment. The place was dark and quiet. A chill crept down my spine as I unlocked the door. It had only been our place for a year when we decided to move in together against my parent's wishes, or should I say my mother's disapproval. 

‘Was she right?” I said, turning on the light, the clicking of my heels across the polished hardwood floor heading to our bedroom, throwing open the closet. Yep, his clothes are still here, systemically checking the room for any evidence that Frank had moved out. My mind was whirling as thoughts darted in all directions, which started to make me dizzy. As I crawled into bed, tears welled up in my green eyes, crying myself to sleep.

**

They say that time heals all wounds, but after the Franks text message two days after his disappearance, this is one wound that may never completely heal. But as my best friend, Sharon, said, “You need to move on, girlfriend.” Sharon is the kind of person who always looks at the positive side even if everyone else only sees the negative. She gives me hope for a better tomorrow, and despite the broken pieces, I will survive.  And I know that in the end, I will make it through the darkness and come out ‘smelling like a rose.’

On the other hand, my mother has a habit of saying, “I told you so.” She means well. However, I need a listening ear, not a condemning voice, But her main focus is to find me another ‘perfect man.’ as she tracks down a suitable guy for me.  She is like a trained detective scouring the city in her endless search and coming up short, well, according to my way of thinking. 

“Hey, girlfriend, what’s up? ’ Sharon said

“Nothing, why?”

“Oh, I dunno, how bout some company?”

“Sure, why not.”

That’s what I like about Sharon, always to the point, short and sweet over the phone. While looking over the living room, ‘Humph?” It needs some cleaning up. Frank, however, had kept our place neat and tidy, and I am – well, let's say being awesome is not my forte.   Scurrying from one disaster to another, I popped down on the couch, exhausted from straightening up things here and there, and in the end, only a slight improvement.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Sharon brushes away a whisk of blonde hair from her blue eyes. Her petite silhouette, wearing khaki shorts, a navy blue tailor cotton top  Sharon makes herself at home, strolling into the kitchen, and pours herself a cold glass of beer.

“Do you want some?”

“No, thanks”

 “So, how have you been?”

“I, um.., doing -“ I said, making another pot of coffee

“Yeah, I know, you, you're fine, huh?” She said, sipping her drink. It is her way of easing into a conversation, one that I choose not to get into right now. Sharon’s voice trails on, something about a dare.

“What did you say?”

Weren’t you listening?

“Um.., yeah, sure.”

“Yeah, right. What I said was how bout a dare?”

“A dare? ’ Sipping my coffee. Did I hear her, right What kind of dare? 

“Hey, I can see your wheels turning,” Sharon said, relaxing on the couch, casually putting her feet up on the ‘coffee table,’ the one Frank left behind. 

“ So what dare are you referring to?” I said, slowly sipping my coffee.

“Well,” Sharon started, and I knew by her tone of voice that this isn’t going to be a simple expiration. Instead, a lengthy one, so I lean back, prop up my feet, getting ready for whatever is coming next. “As I see it, you need someone in your life, and well, you know, so I would like to change the status of your profile, you know, spice it up a bit. Nothing too um.., daring, but make you sound more interesting than only single, you know, to draw attention, you know.”

“Okay, I guess.” My final last words, as she changes my status from ‘single’ to ‘available for a romantic relationship.” At first, I couldn’t believe that I had agreed to this dare, but then there was a part of me wanting to break from the humdrum life that I am living ever since Frank broke up with me. 

“All done, now we wait and see who will respond”

“Yep, all done,” I said, finishing the last drop of coffee. We chatted the rest of the evening, munching on pizza, then dishing up some chocolate ice cream while binge-watching television, sci-fi movies.

**

Sharon stopped over the other day to see how things were going with my new status, and quite frankly, it has been interesting. I never knew that there were so many men looking for a relationship. I guess after spending four years with Frank kept me naïve about such things. I think she was more interested in seeing the comments than I was, but I found one guy who piques my curiosity. His name is Donald Peterson, divorce and in his forties,

“Well, girlfriend, are you going to contact him or what?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Here, let me,” Sharon said, her fingers busy typing a response

             Meet me at Tony’s Restaurant tonight at 7 pm.”

“Sharon!”

“Come on,” she said, pulling my arm as we scurried to the bedroom, swished her arms flung the closet doors open as she started to rummage through my dresses, “Here, wear this” as she held up a red dress,

“Um., that’s too tight,” I protested

“Nonsense”

It all felt like a whirlwind turning my sensible life upside down, and I am hopeless to stop what is happening. For a moment, it was like we were back in high school when Sharon lined up a blind date to take me to the Senior Prom. I couldn’t stop her then, and I can’t now. I only hope that this date turns out better than the other blind date who decided to dump me for another girl.

“Trust me, girlfriend.”

I held my breath, “Okay,”

“Let’s go.”

“Call me Cinderella,” I said under my breath as we drove to the restaurant in Sharon’s little sports car.”

The restaurant doors opened, the fluorescent lights stir up old forgotten memories of my first date with Frank almost five years ago. Now I am on the verge of something new and exciting, and it all started when I accepted a dare from Sharon. I find myself torn behind, running away and hiding, or go through with the blind date—the Madere, whose mustache looks like something from the Roaring twenties, not the mid-twenty century.

“May I help you, Ms?”

“Um, yeah, a table for two.”

“Do you have a reservation?”

“Yep,” Sharon said

“What’s the name?”

“Ms. Pau’red Miller”

“Follow me,” he said, ambling toward the middle of the room, swiftly turning around, scurrying back like a scared rabbit.

“Well, see you,” Sharon said

“What?”

“You’ll be fine,” her voice trailing off, something about heading toward the bar, abandoning me to wait for my date with no support. Glancing at the menu, I found myself lost in my thoughts about what to order when-

“Excuse me, but are you Ms. Pau’red?” Donald said

“Yes, I am. “

“It’s nice meeting you.”

“It’s good to meet you as well.”

Our hands' touch, for a brief moment, as we chatted through our dinner, his soft blue eyes twinkle when he laughs. 

“So what should we drink to?” Don asks

“Humph,” I said, “Oh, I know. Here’s to once in a blue moon.”

“Huh?”

“Well, it’s like how I met, you know ‘Once in a blue moon.”

“Here’s to once in a blue moon.”