My Fire

It only makes sense for a mysterious woman to have an equally as mysterious name. Psyche was that type of woman. Before she walked across the casino floor, I had never seen hair that could only be described as hand-spun gold. It flowed down her back this-way-and-that like a rogue waterfall; the type you wouldn't find at a national park , but rather a secret spot in the woods. Her gold-blonde hair stopped at her ass and I would be lying if I said I didn't stare. She was the only woman in the casino wearing a dress and the light pink silk hugged her just right. It accentuated every curve and crevice of her hour-glass form. The color was subtle, but a woman like her didn't need a show-stopping dress to draw attention. Psyche did that all on her own and damn did she draw me in; like a moth to a flame.

But I wasn't an ambitious man. I wasn't known for chasing fires and despite my blatant attraction to Psyche, I never had plans to pursue her. A woman like that wouldn't have trouble catching the male gaze; especially in the most popular casino in the city on a Friday night. I was ready to walk away. I should have known better. I recognized Psyche's fire, but I underestimated what she would do with it. She sauntered across the room and I secretly hoped she had her sights set on me. I knew from the beginning I was unworthy of anything and everything Psyche had to offer and yet she offered me a lifetime of warmth.

"What do you recommend?" she asked me, leaning against the bar. Her shin was buttery brown compared to the white marble countertop. She wanted to know what was worth her time and money in the casino. I wasn't a casino regular. I usually accompanied my friends from time to time and strayed from the action. Tonight, I decided to come alone. I like to think I was destined to meet Psyche, but if that was true things wouldn't have ended the way they did. I can understand destiny messing with poor chumps like me, but not angels like Psyche. Destiny can't be that cruel.

Psyche and I played every game the casino had to offer and we were terrible at all of them. It was worth it though to see the light behind Psyche's eyes. Throughout the night, I found myself leaning closer to her. I wanted my day in the sun.

A top-tier casino had its advantages; mainly a full-fledged hotel upstairs.

I was drunk on Psyche's sunlight as we purchased a room and slid the lock firmly in place. I wasn't questioning why a goddess like her was interested in a boy like me.

Not until the next morning when reality set in. I had made love to a beautiful woman and all I could focus on were my nagging insecurities. Instead of cherishing the blessing that was Psyche, I convinced myself she had made a mistake; that she would wake up, see me, and her amber eyes would fill with disgust.

I ran away.

At fresh nineteen, I didn't know a lot. Seven years later, I still think about my first one night stand; the first of many. Even as my confidence and experience grew, I couldn’t shake the vivid memory of Psyche. No one has come close to matching her fire. I couldn’t help but wonder if I could match it now. Psyche didn't make a mistake. I did.

**********

The coffee shop is crowded, but most places in the city are during lunchtime. Usually, I would come at a slow hour since my job permitted it, but I was heading out of the city for the weekend. My mother was getting the family together and attendance was mandatory.

I'm patiently waiting in line when a tall blonde cuts in front of me. Normally, I would seize the opportunity to flirt, but I'm prematurely cranky for my visit with my family. I unintentionally groan in annoyance, catching the woman's attention.

I'm ready to apologize and move on with my day, when I meet her gaze. I would recognize that fire anywhere. It haunts my wishful dreams and conscious regrets.

Psyche.

I promised myself if I was ever presented the opportunity I would make amends for my fatal mistake, but I can't find the words. My confidence I have nurtured for seven years has abandoned me when I need it most.

Psyche scrutinizes me with her familiar amber eyes. Her eyebrows furrow. They are thicker and wilder than I remember. It feels like it has been only days, but somehow many decades since I have appreciated her beauty. 

She turns away from me to face the front of the line.

Does she not recognize me? Who am I kidding, it's been seven years! I can't remember the faces of all my one night stands, so why should I expect her to remember me?

My insecurities I thought were long buried flare up. I feel like the soft boy I used to be.

I catch my reflection in a napkin dispenser. I'm not a teenager anymore.

Psyche places her order and before she can fish out her wallet, I saddle-up beside her. I flash a smile at Psyche and then the cashier. "Her drink’s on me." The cashier blushes and rings up the total. I hand her my card, no longer interested in buying my own coffee. My interest is on Psyche who I expect to be blushing, too, but she's not.

We stand by the window as we wait for Psyche's coffee. Psyche's absorbed in her phone, brilliant light reflecting off her irises from the screen. I'm unashamedly absorbed in her.

I wonder how much has changed about her over the years. The physical changes are apparent. Along with her new style of eyebrows is her new hairstyle. Her blonde waves are constrained in a high bun, but still the same glorious shade of gold. Her clothes are professional, but well-fitted, consisting of a collared white blouse and navy pencil skirt. I smile fondly. She still doesn't need elaborate clothes to garner attention.

I can pinpoint her physical altercations with ease, but beyond that I am in the dark. I want to learn everything about Psyche; far more than I learned in one night. That starts with making amends for my greatest mistake. Now if only she would acknowledge my presence. 

"Psyche?"

She lifts her head, amber eyes scrutinizing perhaps my soul. Strangely enough, I think I would be okay with her seeing my soul. "How do you know my name?"

She really didn't remember me. The blow to my self-esteem is brutal. Here I was fantasizing about this woman for years and I hadn't been a blimp on her radar.

The cashier calls Psyche over to hand her her coffee. The cashier flirtatiously waves at me as Psyche passes me. I should just let her leave, but my regrets are eating me alive.

I run out of the coffee shop, catching up to Psyche at the corner. I pinch the sleeve of her blouse. I can see her tan skin through the thin material. I find myself reminiscing of the night our paths first crossed when she approached me and leaned against the bar counter.

She still glowed.

Psyche is fire, but she's not my fire.

Her eyes harden, waiting for an explanation. To her I am a forward man violating her personal space. Perhaps even an amateur stalker who knows her name. In Psyche's world, I am a stranger and that's all I will ever be. 

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

I couldn't find the words to explain, so I do what I do best. 

I ran.