received salacious stares and bawdy comments as I pushed through the bodies, something I, as a former ugly duckling, never got used to. Just as I approached the vestibule outside the bathrooms, a guy in his mid-twenties blocked my path. He moved when I moved, side to side, a choreographed dance purposely hindering my progress, all with what I’m sure he thought was his most irresistibly charming smile, but which only made me want to knock his teeth down his throat.
“Hey, babe, you look like a smart lady,” he said then glanced over his shoulder at a table of cavemen urging him on with vulgar gestures and lewd remarks.
I tried to push by him, but he continued the dance.
“Let me by, please,” I begged as I swiped at my tears.
“Just answer one question first, okay? You know the dove is the bird of peace, right?” he asked.
I shook my head, still working to get around him. “Whatever. Just…please... Let me by.”
He seized me, his hands on my arms. “Do you know what the bird of love is?” he persisted.
My grief morphed into irritation, but I just stood there and shook my head, biting back an immature response.
He looked at his friends again before he turned back to me and said, “The swallow. Get it?” He burst out laughing, like he truly believed he was the wittiest man on earth.
I narrowed my eyes and gave him a withering look that should’ve straightened him out. Disgusted, I pushed against him. He refused to give way and tightened his grip on my arms, With me firmly in hand, he leaned in over my shoulder as if to whisper in my ear. Instead, he presented the perfect opportunity for my knee to make acquaintance with his balls, to which he strenuously objected with a sharp yelp and a stern shove backwards into the crowd.
“Fucking bitch!” he swore, advancing on me with rage in his eye.
But before he could reach me, someone yanked him from behind, dragged him into the vestibule, and thrust him out the back door into the alley, knocking him into the filthy Dumpster and crowning him a true dirty hipster. My savior slammed the self-locking door shut and comically brushed himself off to the applause of the surrounding crowd.
He raised his hands. “All right, show’s over. As you were,” he said. And with that, they all went back to what they were doing. The young man approached me with a sheepish grin. “Apologies, ma’am. We aren’t all Neanderthals, I assure you,” he explained, then asked, “You okay?”
I nodded silently, afraid, if I said one word, I’d start to cry all over again.
My savior wasn’t convinced. He bent down to catch my eye, his hands gentle as they caressed my arms exactly where that douchebag had grabbed me so roughly.
“You sure?” he said as he eased me toward him, carefully pulling me into the vestibule and away from the boisterous bar crowd.
When the last occupant exited the single-user men’s room, he held the next in line back with a pleading look before he escorted me inside, closed the door, and locked the deadbolt. He leaned back against the door with his hands clasped in front.
“You want me to go beat his ass? ‘Cause I will if you want. Anything to help a beautiful woman,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and what actually was a charming smile.
I stared at him and was struck dumb, reliving that time years ago, the night Jacob was killed protecting me. Every emotion I’d felt back then, and again today while visiting Ivy’s grave and telling Ashlyn about Jacob, it all began to wash over me like a rogue wave—the pain of what I’d lost, my first born, my daughter, the longing and physical ache for someone I’d loved more than life itself, an unbearable craving to see Jacob again, to touch and smell him, my first and one true love.
This young man looked so much like Jacob, near the same age and tall, his body long and lean, muscular and broad-shouldered. He had dark hair that swept over his forehead in front and curled just to the top of
“Hey, babe, you look like a smart lady,” he said then glanced over his shoulder at a table of cavemen urging him on with vulgar gestures and lewd remarks.
I tried to push by him, but he continued the dance.
“Let me by, please,” I begged as I swiped at my tears.
“Just answer one question first, okay? You know the dove is the bird of peace, right?” he asked.
I shook my head, still working to get around him. “Whatever. Just…please... Let me by.”
He seized me, his hands on my arms. “Do you know what the bird of love is?” he persisted.
My grief morphed into irritation, but I just stood there and shook my head, biting back an immature response.
He looked at his friends again before he turned back to me and said, “The swallow. Get it?” He burst out laughing, like he truly believed he was the wittiest man on earth.
I narrowed my eyes and gave him a withering look that should’ve straightened him out. Disgusted, I pushed against him. He refused to give way and tightened his grip on my arms, With me firmly in hand, he leaned in over my shoulder as if to whisper in my ear. Instead, he presented the perfect opportunity for my knee to make acquaintance with his balls, to which he strenuously objected with a sharp yelp and a stern shove backwards into the crowd.
“Fucking bitch!” he swore, advancing on me with rage in his eye.
But before he could reach me, someone yanked him from behind, dragged him into the vestibule, and thrust him out the back door into the alley, knocking him into the filthy Dumpster and crowning him a true dirty hipster. My savior slammed the self-locking door shut and comically brushed himself off to the applause of the surrounding crowd.
He raised his hands. “All right, show’s over. As you were,” he said. And with that, they all went back to what they were doing. The young man approached me with a sheepish grin. “Apologies, ma’am. We aren’t all Neanderthals, I assure you,” he explained, then asked, “You okay?”
I nodded silently, afraid, if I said one word, I’d start to cry all over again.
My savior wasn’t convinced. He bent down to catch my eye, his hands gentle as they caressed my arms exactly where that douchebag had grabbed me so roughly.
“You sure?” he said as he eased me toward him, carefully pulling me into the vestibule and away from the boisterous bar crowd.
When the last occupant exited the single-user men’s room, he held the next in line back with a pleading look before he escorted me inside, closed the door, and locked the deadbolt. He leaned back against the door with his hands clasped in front.
“You want me to go beat his ass? ‘Cause I will if you want. Anything to help a beautiful woman,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and what actually was a charming smile.
I stared at him and was struck dumb, reliving that time years ago, the night Jacob was killed protecting me. Every emotion I’d felt back then, and again today while visiting Ivy’s grave and telling Ashlyn about Jacob, it all began to wash over me like a rogue wave—the pain of what I’d lost, my first born, my daughter, the longing and physical ache for someone I’d loved more than life itself, an unbearable craving to see Jacob again, to touch and smell him, my first and one true love.
This young man looked so much like Jacob, near the same age and tall, his body long and lean, muscular and broad-shouldered. He had dark hair that swept over his forehead in front and curled just to the top of
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