I'm a Birthday

  The sticky sludge of night rain, sweat, bathroom water and spilled Jack have puddled beneath my shed Dr. Martens by the door. I still have a hangover and it is almost five. I am not accustomed this. Last night I put my boobs in the right place with a new neon bra. I slipped my rose dress over my curvy frame and new shimmery tights. I laced up my combat boots.
  And I was a birthday.
  "I am an incredible dancer. I am gorgeous. I am invincible."
  Of course.
  He pronounced his name "Shven-dee". He was from Greece.
  He grabbed my hand and gently pulled me into him. Small talk.
  He whispered [in very broken english]: "You are beautiful. So comfortable in yourself. Your personality is happy. You're happy. I like happy. Most people are not happy. You have joy in your smile and hair."
  I liquified into thick neon puddles.
  A gentleman.
  He asked where the other birthday girl was. Misty had already left, cigarette in hand, and was somewhere between 5 Spot and Red Door on the phone.
 "It's not my birthday," I said.
  He did not respond.
  He simply smiled and put his chin to my head.

  "Yes. Birthday girl."

  A few shots in, we got hungry.
  Every time we strive to abide by a healthy meal plan we end up at Waffle House. As I bit into my four a.m. patty melt grease coated my mouth and tongue. Svendy's cologne wafted up through my nose from my own chest. I looked up at him.

"Seventy. Why are you here in America? Don't you miss your family? Don't you miss Greece?"

He beamed.

"Of course I miss my family.
But I must fulfill my dream here in the Americas!"

"What is your dream?"
 I mused.

"To open a wine, coffee, and cheese shop...

 Cork and Perk! Get it? Because 'perks'! Like a coffee!"

"Like a coffee!"
 I mused.

 He picked up the tab. That's $37.89 of post-bar food with a group of women he had only just met. Instead of asking for our numbers he asked about our mothers. He asked about our hobbies and beliefs. He asked heart questions.

 As he walked back to his car beneath the neon signs of the Dollar Tree parking lot-rain coming down on his face and neck-I wished our lips had met during our dance.
I imagined our bodies, sticky and sweet coming together in a moment of hovering and then...

 Well,
 I have spent all day playing it out over again in my head.

 If fate should have it
 Over a bold glass of wine or dark cup of coffee
 We will meet again.
 I hope.