With apologies to Aqua.
- - -
She would collect name tags and uniforms like a poacher collects tusks. She was many things. She was a ballerina and a lawyer and a flight attendant and a pilot. When we first met, she was a model by trade. It was an occupation viewed by many as unskilled, but I found beauty in its simplicity. Her profession did not define her.
“Hiya, Barbie,” I said.
“Hi, Ken,” she replied.
There is a hollow empty fear a man can have when he sees an old friend. A fear of not knowing the conversation’s direction. A fear of being rudderless. I was singular in my focus for the night. One last glam adventure before I re-enlisted.
“You wanna go for a ride?”
The blonde was once the life of the party. She was out of practice. She lived in a Malibu Dream House but was a prisoner of her own device.
“Sure, Ken.”