A Casual Conversation

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Unexpected, unforeseen
Only in a dream,
Capturing the imagination,
Imprisoning hearts with such machinations.
Exotic and rare
Dumb hearts she’d ensnare
Angle or devil?
Be a little more original
Be bold if you dare
It’s vulnerable
Give a care
The heart’s in danger

I put a seashell to my ear and it all comes back…

Exotic is what they called her. Rare. Noticeably a mixture of “other.” She always got the sideways glances while people searched for the right taxonomy.  Something she’s heard all her life. A mild irritation and on rare occasions fully taken advantage of.  The Hypnotic, Exotic, Brown settled next to him at the bar. “Bartender, let me get an orange juice and vodka.”

Disguised in garments of nonchalance, he moved to give her more room.  Looking over at her, he gave a glance, then a second glance.  Hoping per chance, their eyes, like fated lovers, might connect. The bartender placed the drink on the counter. “Eleven dollars.”

He leaned in and dropped a few bones near her drink. “I’ve got this.” She turned to face him. “Thank you.” She took a sip. “Just so you know. You didn’t buy any conversation or anything else with that gesture.”

He said, “I fully understand and wouldn’t have it any other way. But let’s be real. We shouldn’t have to play the role of adversaries when we can play the role of new friends.” Intending no disrespect to her curly locks and ‘Raisin’ in the Sun’ cornerstone stock. He was born to dig her style – East coast jazz and West coast wild.

She turned her body to face him; scanning him from top to bottom. She wore the look of a detective seeking an answer to the question on her mind. “You wanna know, if I’m full of shit. I can see it in your body language and facial expression.” He said.

Never breaking his focus he said, “Hey, whatever, it’s cool and no pressure. Whatever is going to happen has already happened.   I’m just catching up to the history and the experience.” He extended his hand. “So did we get the chance to know each or not? By the way, I am Socrates.”

She looked at his hand and then at his eyes. “So you are one of those players with existential, egghead type game. This is rare, if not original. The two don’t usually come packaged in the same box.”  He smiled in acknowledgement of her assessment, while simultaneously dropping his hand.

“You’ve been tracking me for a long time.”  She said, placing her drink on the bar. “I saw you when I turned into the parking garage.  Then, I saw you watching me while I was on stage.  Let me ask you a question.”  She gave him a sideways smile. “Serendipity?”  She tilted her head and shrugged her shoulders.  “Since you presented yourself as somewhat clairvoyant.  Tell me what happens next?”

She extended her hand and introduced herself. “My name is Elena. Elena Simone Jones.”

Seashells in Your Pockets
A Casual Conversation
Read the entire story here

by malakhai jones
(c) Copyright 2016

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