Fortunate Envy

The voice

Marissa waits in the car as you rush back inside to pay the rest of her tab.

“Sorry for the misunderstanding!” You shout, so you’ll be heard over the bass.

“Hey no problem, hope you have a great night!” Says the bartender.

You’re not sure if it’s just your imagination, spurred by expectation, but it sounds like maybe there’s a hint of extra meaning in there. A congratulatory comradery. You are, afterall, paying for the tab of a woman who waits in your car. A woman you’ve seen but never met before tonight. A woman who is beautiful by all measures. At least you think she is beautiful.

It could have been the .

You look back on the faded, watercolor, images still drifting in your mind. She’s bathed in the dancing, purple lights of the nightclub. You realize between the blacklight, lasers and strobes you’ve only assumed that she has red hair. Red like fire. Predominantly straight, but with ripples and waves that curves and sprouts points - like the tips of flames - and at all the places that compliment her shoulders, her bust, and her waist.

She must be a supermodel.

Her eyes are large and luminous. Wild. Her chest looks… tender, and sensitive. Her breasts you wonder about, as they are hidden in her loose tank top. But as loose as it is, they sure fill it in.

Her stomach isn’t flat, but there are no rolls there either. Yet her hips are full and welcoming.

As you open the car door, in this moment of soberness, you check to see if your memory is serving you well.

It sure as hell did.

Illuminated in the cabin light, nestled in the soft faux fur line passenger seat, is the woman in your mind. Her hair is, in fact, red. And her body is fit, tight, but also full and rich. She looks at you. You’re surprised that she isn’t stuck in her phone.

No, she is here. She’s actually here.

Color touches her cheeks. From the , self awareness, or both, she flushes and her eyes flutter as you enter the vehicle.

As the door closes, she shifts audibly in her luxurious seat.

Her smell seems to drift effortlessly throughout the cabin and along your nasal passages. It nestles into every fold of your brain. Cascades down your spine. Makes your stomach feel as though it’s full of delicious warm soup.

Until you look at her.

And then it froths into butterflies that catch in your throat.

Before too much time goes by you go to start the car.

But then you stop yourself

You realize that you are really here, too.

This is the moment. There’s no possible way it could be too late for anything.

You are in the moment for the first time in… you cannot remember.

Just as she is.

Not on her phone. Not staring out the window. She’s looking around, sure. But it’s clear that she’s waiting to meet eyes with you. You let the keys tumble among your fingers and palm. And try to say something.

Anything.

“When I heard your voice, I knew I had to talk to you.”

There’s a pause. You hear her movement, and then you feel her eyes upon you.

“My voice?”

Yes, that voice. There’s a range to it. It’s deep, but feminine, and when you hear it you know it is the voice that other’s hush for. It’s a singer’s voice. A true singer. You close your eyes as it follows the path of her smell.

Inhale.

Sigh.

You meet her graze. Her head is slightly tilted, forming a curtain of red hair gone greyscale in the light of one, lone streetlamp, filtered by your tinted windows.

It feels like too much time has gone by. But you say it anyway, “It’s a singer's voice,” you declare.

She chuckles. “Heard that one before.” And she breaks eye contact to buckle her seatbelt.

“Well that’s because it’s true.” You say, perhaps too quickly.

Her mouth squishes into some smug, knowing smile. She doesn’t believe that you mean it. To her you’re merely hitting on her.

“It was last weekend.” You start the car. “Saturday.” You look over to her again as the vehicle warms up.

She’s looking at you sideways, eyebrows raised.

There’s hope there

?

“I heard you… talking to your friend.”

You close your eyes, as the memory wades up from the depths.

“I can’t remember what your friend said, but you said ‘everything’s a dilemma… no, more to it than that… well, I’m just alive to be alive. That’s all the reason I need…”

Now her smug, knowing smile has lost its hardness. Now it is a window of shining eyes, barley grasping an edge of suspicion. “That sounds like something I would say…”

You look down. Those eyes are too much.

“... pretty creepy that you remembered that.” For a second the butterflies turn to rust in your chest. But then you register the playful tone in her voice.

“Marissa… “ you didn’t think of anything to say before you said her name. But now you’ve said her name and you don’t want to just trail off like an idiot. You surrender to her gaze one final time. And say what’s on your mind, “...I … really like you.”

Her face crinkles into a smile and she leans against your shoulder, embracing your forearm as you grip the shifter. “Take me home, silly boy.”

She gives you general directions and you drive.

You chat easily. Trading memories. Sharing passions.

There’s a moment when you realize just how much of a catch this woman is. You originally went to the bar last weekend in hopes of a hook up. But after hearing her voice and laugh you completely lost your nerve.

You came back almost every night since then, hoping to hear her voice above the bars clamor. And one weekend later, you did.