Black Attack

Last night at the bar, my past came over to haunt me.

Nearing the end of the night, I was talking with a castmate of mine, and a sweet girl he was desperate to have connubial encounters with.

That's when IT hit. This girl, very, very young Girl, puts her arms around us and proceeds to tell us what a great show we had. We being pleasant boys, and ego maniacs, listened with happy-keep talking-faces. Then, she mentions last week's show, and, again, we nod with appreciation of her fine taste.

That's when she looks right at me, as if I was holding up a blinking sign, and says, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Oh, my God, I thought, who is she? I think I heard her name... Danielle, maybe? Wait, I think I met a Danielle at the showcase my buddy was in. Yeah, that's a good gamble. Say that.

I, with a tremendous amount of the faked confidence I have learned to squirt in troubled times, start to assure her, DANIELLE, that I indeed remember her from the showcase.

She makes an awful face (which, as I am speaking, I notice goes well with her ample, awful body), and my castmate grimaces as he recognizes my failure.

He leans over and says, "You met her at the party last week." You could almost feel the psychological nudge he tried to give me: come on, old man, don't let your bad habits ruin a night of very fleshy indulgence.

I tried to laugh off my complete and utter lack of rememberance of this Girl. I beleive I made an ill placed joke about drugs and how she should try to avoid them when she grows up.

She leaned in very close to me, and in a tender whisper, said, " Do you see that tiny bubble over there, POPPING? That is your chance."

Wow, actually poetic in its crush. And so insightful that this Girl, who hardly knows me, could recognize that my chances are tiny bubbles, popping.

Later, after she stormed off (a fact, for which, I was actually glad), I wondered what had I actually said to this Girl the week before? Did we have an intimate conversation, or was I performing in the kitchen, and she felt like she KNEW me?

We shall never know.

What I do know, though, is, I don't think this is the last Black Attack I am going to suffer. I'm sure there are plenty of little Girls whom I may have chatted up in my undocumented two hours that night. All waiting to pounce.

So many tiny bubbles.

POP!