Hot Amanda

Surely this must mostly be in my mind?

In a crowded nightclub, she dances with her girlfriend, close and slow, liquid. I see her and the crowded nightclub seems empty, just her and me. She dances with her girlfriend, but she looks at me through her eyelashes. I am shy and cannot hold her stare, but each time I dare to steal a glance at her, her eyes are focussed on me, electric in their intensity. She dances with her girlfriend, but she dances for me.

Later, I am at the bar talking to a friend. She comes up to order a drink, moving through the crowd like a cobra. My hand rests beside my drink and she carefully puts her little finger across mine. There is space at the bar, this touch is wholly unnecessary. It is a small gesture but oh so deliberate. I am jelly. My friend wants to know why I have stopped talking. It’s because I can’t form syllables any more. It is a relief and a heartbreak when she leaves the bar.

Another night, another 2am, she is walking towards me on the street. Her girlfriend’s arm is draped around her but she seems not to notice. We pass each other and she gives me such a look of naked hunger, I feel that I am being devoured. I am a cat caught in headlights. I can only return her look, probably magnified.

Day time this time. I get off a bus and she is there, walking down a busy street. Immediately a thrill of electricity courses through me. I follow her, I have to, she’s going my way. And, lo, she turns down and sidestreet. I feel like a stalker, but I follow – my car is parked on that street. I might have been driven to follow her even if it wasn’t. I don’t know if she knows I’m there, I don’t know how she could know, but she pauses momentarily to adjust her boot – just long enough for me to pass, so that now she follows me. That thrill I feel whenever she is nearby mixes with excruciating self-consciousness. I almost forget how to walk. Thankfully, I reach my car. I cross the road and unlock my door. Amanda has stopped, apparently to check her reflection in a mirrored window. But she isn’t looking at herself. She is watching me get into my car. Her reflected eyes meet mine and hold my look. I am the one who has to look away.