OneBiteSamples
Click on the player above for the audio version of this story "Handsome Stranger" from my book One Bite: Stories for Short Attention Spans, Stolen Moments, and Busy Lives.
Handsome Stranger
By John
Sheirer
When
Anne saw the remarkable stranger walking a dog in the park on an otherwise
ordinary summer evening, she sensed that fate had arranged for this man to
cross her path. Her mind could only hold one thought: This is the most
handsome man I have ever seen.
"Hello,"
the handsome man said through a smile so white his teeth pulled light from the
air around his mouth.
Anne
could hardly believe he had spoken to her, said the word "hello"
through lips so full and perfectly shaped for kissing.
"Hello,"
she replied through her own lips, which were suddenly dry.
"I'm
Paul," the handsome stranger said, his voice a mix of honey and cello.
"I just moved in down the street."
"I'm
Anne," she said, grasping handsome Paul's offered right hand, his big,
soft hand that buried hers. His left hand, dangling from a thick wrist,
well-muscled arm, and square shoulder, held the dog's leash. That lovely hand,
Anne noticed, held no wedding ring.
"This
is Bowser," handsome Paul said, nodding a square jaw darkened with thick
evening whiskers toward the dog standing beside his sandaled feet.
Anne
tore her eyes from Paul's handsomeness to look at the dog for the first time.
Bowser was mid-sized, about two feet tall, the color of charcoal, so dusky he
looked like he would darken the palms of anyone who touched him.
"Hi
Bowser," Anne said, noticing the affected lilt in her own voice. Anne
wasn't a "dog person." She didn't have one as a child and had never
felt the need for one as an adult. She had no interest in paying for, housing,
feeding, walking, and cleaning up after such creatures. She could take them or leave
them. In Anne's experience, humans made the best companions--humans like Paul,
for example.
And
handsome Paul was leashed to this dog at this moment, so this dog was worth the
effort. Anne knelt beside Bowser, who she now noticed was a mutt of
undeterminable linage--and not a good mix. Maybe some lab, perhaps some
dachshund, a pinch of boxer, a hint of terrier--overall more a chunking of
attributes than a true blend. He was as thick around as a beer keg with a
football head, meatloaf neck, and short, spindly legs.
"I
think Bowser likes you," handsome Paul said. "Don't you Bowser?"
Bowser
grunted and thrust his head at Anne. Reflexively, she put her hand on his back
but had to consciously force herself not to pull away. Bowser's spine bones
jutted into her palm through his wire coat. Dander dust wafted from just the
light stroke she gave him.
It's
not his fault, Anne thought. He's a dog. He can't help being a little
dirty. Think about how handsome Paul is. Just keep petting. Pet the dog. Think
of Paul … handsome Paul.
"He
likes being scratched behind the ears," handsome Paul said. Anne glanced
up at him. She liked the view from this angle. Yep, she thought, just
as handsome as he was fifteen seconds ago.
Anne
looked down at the big ears on the back of Bowser's clunky head. The skin was
scabrous. Anne thought of how Paul's wavy hair was nothing like Bowser's ratty
rug. She guided her fingernails lightly over the ruined, patch-furred skin just
behind Bowser's right ear.
Bowser
looked up to meet Anne's gaze. His right eye was ink-dark and featureless. His
left was circled in a blood-red, inside-out lid. That eye bulged, nearly
disconnected from the socket. Bowser eased his snout closer to Anne's face. His
breath smelled like something found months too late in the back of the
refrigerator, something turned green with fur growing on it. Bowser's moldy
tongue lulled across one side of his jaw. Anne saw only four intact teeth, and
the holes in Bowser's gums oozed pink puss.
"Awww,
he wants a kiss," handsome Paul cooed. "Bowser wants a kiss. Go
ahead, Anne. Give Bowser a kiss."
At
the sound of his handsome master's voice, Bowser licked the puss from his gums
and dribbled a yellowish glob of phlegm to the ground. Anne had to pull her
foot away to avoid the glob landing on her newly purchased walking shoes, a
maneuver that nearly sent her toppling over.
Anne
regained her balance and stood so quickly that Bowser and handsome Paul both
backpedaled. "I just remembered something," she sputtered, striding
down the sidewalk like a power-walker. "I have to be someplace for
something," she called over her shoulder to Paul, his smile drooping like
the sagging leash he held, like the slack skin at Bowser's four armpits.
Anne
didn't look back at handsome Paul, couldn't look. She walked straight toward
her echoing house--a house with no kids, no pets, no husband.
One
thought filled her mind: Nobody's
that handsome.
Copyright . John Sheirer. All rights reserved.
