The Lady With No Name

The Lady with No Name

Her skin looked too soft to touch. Once touched and you must embrace the feeling, cherish the softness that no other women could rival, rub your hand over her skin delicately, as though she was an ancient artifact worth more than your life. Her hair long, brown, straight and beautiful. It must be natural, not a single chemical has to enhance its beauty. Her eyes, brown, show her wisdom, shows her knowledge for the world around her. Yet her pale eyes showed sorrow and worry. She was so beautiful I almost didn’t notice the scars on her wrists. The bruises on the soft skin that I admired so much.

I placed my cup down on the table I was sitting at to view her more closely. Her lips, lustful as she parted them to take a drink. Her red lipstick leaving a small smear of itself on the glass.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect woman.”

I looked up to find the waiter smiling at me. He must have noticed me watching her. I nod my head as he walks towards her and refills her glass.

She’s not perfect, I tell myself, but she damn sure is close.

My legs, acting on their own, moved from my table towards hers. My heart beating into my chest, my mind contemplating on what to say. What could I say? What should I say? How will she respond?

As I got closer to her table I stopped. Gained control of my legs and moved past her table aiming for the bathroom. I couldn’t do it. I looked at the mirror in the bathroom and saw my face. How could I be such a coward?
* * *
I woke up the next morning as I always do; got my paper from the driveway, made my coffee and sat down to read my paper. As I turned I saw a headline that wouldn’t have made me flinch had I hadn’t went to the restaurant yesterday.

“Young lady commits suicide.” I read aloud as I looked at the picture that had under it “unknown woman”. It was her, the lady with no name.

Grief and anger went through me like a bullet. If I had talked to her yesterday I might’ve prevented this. If I just told her how beautiful she was. I felt as though I killed her. What would cause her to do this? It’s too late to ask. I took a sip of my coffee as I placed the paper down and went to my room.

She was the one. “My Juliet,” I said as I moved the chair from under my feet and dangled in the air.