You Give Me Gas

There was a simple explanation for why his shoe smelled like gasoline. Really, it was easy to explain how a man who had filled his tank about 982,000 times would spill two gallons of gas on his left shoe.

He thought he saw her.

Yeah, her, you know the girl he said he didn’t love, think or care about.

The same one who said the same about him but read all of his words and followed all of his exploits.

He looked to his left and he thought he saw her. 

It was completely unexpected. There she was standing with her back to him, filling up her car.

This was destiny.

This was fate.

This was his moment.

He decided to go for it. He was going to walk right up to her, wrap an arm around her and say something cool in her ear.

It wasn’t without risk. There was a chance she might squirm or scream. A woman who was grabbed at a gas station might not react the way you wanted her to. She might scream or try to fight, but that was only until she recognized him.

And this was destiny. This was fate. The universe wouldn’t tease him this way.

The last time he saw her she looked spectacular, twenty years younger and sexy as hell. 

But he never told her that, never said anything to her that day because things were weird and he had intentionally ignored her.

Ignored her because she hated being ignored and he wanted to make a point. Wanted to make sure she understood he wasn’t some weak fool who would fall down and beg her to be with him.

So he ignored her because he knew it worked. Every time he did she would come closer.

It was stupid. It was juvenile. It was childish.

But it worked and he figured that if they ever got over the hump one day they would laugh about this and if they didn’t, well it just made it easier.

Only a moment had passed since he noticed her but it felt like a lifetime and he knew that if he was going to take advantage of this offering from the universe the time was now.

He decided he wasn’t going to worry about what he looked like. Didn’t matter if he wasn’t wearing a suit or his hair wasn’t quite right. Didn’t matter because once upon a time they had sworn that nothing could stop them, not age, not time, not circumstance, people-nothing.

The moment had arrived. 

He took a deep breath and prepared to walk over, but first he had to take the nozzle out of the tank and place it back on the unit.

Shook his head once to flip the sunglasses back down upon his eyes and James Dean cool pulled the nozzle out of tank and watched as gas spurted all over his left foot.

Fuck! Damn! Shit!

So much for wishing upon the suave factor of a dead celebrity. Hell, for all he knew the ghost of Cary Grant had risen from above and slapped him in the face with reality.

It wasn’t her.

It looked like her.

Damn, it really looked like her.

Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t done anything.

Hell, it was a really good thing he hadn’t done anything. This woman definitely wouldn’t have recognized him.

Two minutes later he sat in the car and laughed. She would have appreciated the story and she would have laughed.

Once upon a time he would have told her and made some stupid joke about it and she would have laughed. It made him smile to think about it. Every time she laughed her whole face lit up.

Three minutes tops.

Three minutes tops had been all it had taken from time he thought he saw her right through the cleanup and the time back in the car.

Still made for a good story, maybe one day he would tell her about it.

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