So Close at The Open House

Next to you at the Open House is a woman. Though seated you can tell she is tall. Taller than you like. Her hair is curly and soft brown while you prefer long, straight, and raven. Her eyes are large almonds both in shape and color. Perfect only if they were blue or green or pure brown. Her chest wears a late summer tan showing above a simple white blouse, the hint of cleavage tasteful. You do not notice this, of course, as this is third grade Open House and the parents of your child's friends might see you do so. You do notice, however, the woman's nose and cheekbones as she speaks to the other parents in a confident voice about the PTO. They are magnificent and anchor what you now see is a face so beautiful you might rethink every preference you've ever had. The nose is small, perfectly sculpted, dimpled just above the tip and on both sides. A symmetrical masterpiece. Her cheekbones, the skin a little flushed from public speaking, are high as heaven and nearly make you forget the tanned cleavage you did not notice. Suddenly you want this woman like you've never wanted another. Need her like you need water. Air. Something to believe in. You think how you could love this woman, this vision with almond eyes and cheekbones on high. How you could finish raising your children together. Make love beneath the sound of an Islamorada sunset. Travel to Greece in your middle age. Take walks together when you both grow old. You trace these thoughts down the length of a tan, toned arm, pause on the delicate pivot of her wrist, continue to long delicate fingers on one of which rests a simple band of gold and a blinding rock the size of Rhode Island. You move a little in your seat, smooth your little boy cargo shorts, shift your ample belly, and think in your nonplussed manner, "Ah Fuck, I almost had her."