April is beautiful, short and hippy. Hair the color of fine grained oak hangs to the middle of her back. Her eyes are gray as wet concrete. She has tiny hands with pink nails. I meet her in a bar in Hillsboro. She orders a beer. I get a Diet Pepsi.
I met her through craigslist. She’s forty with kids at home, married but bored. We’re both looking for someone to talk to. We both get along better with the opposite sex. Neither one of us is looking for romance.
She tells me about her husband and kids. I tell her about Denise and the boys. She works for a bank, dealing with people all day. She doesn’t want anymore drama in her life than she already has. I don’t want any drama in my life at all.
She asks about my shakes. I tell her about my brother dropping a rock on my head from the roof of our house when I was a kid. She’s shocked. I reassure her that it was an accident. Even so, I nearly died. She shakes her head. She tells me about her sister slamming her hand in the car door, breaking all four of her fingers. She had a cast covering her whole hand for six weeks. She had to learn to write left handed. It’s the worst injury she’s ever had.
We go out for a cigarette. She likes the gray days more than sunshine. She says it makes her feel like cuddling on the couch, but her husband doesn’t cuddle anymore. He spends all of his time gaming. She says she thinking of leaving him. I hope this isn’t an overture. I don’t need a relationship right now. I’m still hoping to get back together with Denise. Messing around with another woman would completely destroy any chances of that. I start thinking this was a bad idea. You never know what you’re going to get when you meet someone online. I hope I didn’t set myself up.
April says she has to go now. She has to get home. It’s coming up on dinner time. I finish my Diet Pepsi and tell her that it’s okay. I tell her to email me; maybe we’ll get together again. She says she will. She says she had a good time. Outside, we hug and she goes one direction and I go the other.
I catch the bus home and think things went pretty well. I worry what Denise would think though. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I wouldn’t see April again. Maybe I’d just stay in my apartment and work on getting back with Denise. But a year with no one to talk to seems an awfully long time.