Girlie and Boyo WC 297

Girlie and Boyo
WC 297

Girlie sipped her sweet tea, then smiled.

Boyo reached across the table and stroked her hair.

Girlie pulled away.

“Girlie! We have been dating for six months and you’ve never let me touch you!”

“I wouldn’t call it dating. You’ve been coming around for six months.”

“And you haven't stopped me!”

He wasn’t wrong. There was something about him, and Girlie couldn’t deny it. He was different than the others. Boyo seemed sincere, and he didn't play games.

“Look, Girlie, I don't want you to string me along and then dump me. I’ve been dumped one too many times, and it doesn’t feel good!”

“I need to take it slow. I've been burned.”

“Anyone over sixty’s been burned. I’m living proof!”

Girlie didn't want to lose Boyo, but she was afraid to move forward.

They sat in silence.

“So that's it? You have nothing?”

She wanted to take hold of his hand but couldn't make herself do it.

“Okay, then!”

Boyo dropped a $50 bill on the table to cover the check. “I care deeply for you, but I guess that's just not enough,” he said and slid across the bench seat.

Girlie couldn’t find any words.

“Okay,” Boyo said and hurried out of the restaurant.

Girlie replayed the evening: the laughter, the scintillating conversation, the thrill that ran through her when Boyo touched her hair...

The fact he had given up had caught her off guard, dashing her hopes.

I thought he was different. I guess not.

Girlie slid out of the booth and slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

I'm just fine on my own. Gloria Steinem was right. A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

Girlie brushed away a tear and wandered out into the lonely night.