A Stranger Named Samantha

       Having blown through the local mall, I was still hungry for a little more in store perusing. In the spirit of any pop-culture choked teen I headed to another store, and while browsing through the shelves of DVDs I spotted a young woman. Her grown out blue turning brown hair resting just above her shoulders was cut to reveal the freckles bleeding down her neck. Her body wasn’t thick or petite by definition, but reminiscent of ‘The Gilmore Girls’, and her face reminded me of every cute girl I had met in my dreams. I looked at her, probably a little longer than I should, memorizing every detail that I could fit into my head. She glided as she walked, talking with another young girl, probably some comment on the noise blaring from the overhead speakers. Yet with all that I had seen, it seemed to me that she hadn’t noticed me at all.

       ‘No loss.’ I thought, ‘It’s not like I can do anything as it is.’

       So I continued on, moving into a field of CDs, but when I looked up from Seether’s debut album, I spotted the pair again. This time we made eye contact, the blue hair girl and I. She smiled at me, and I answered back with what I think was the dumbest of all possible expressions on my face. I timidly looked away, for a moment, shyly trying to break our link, but when I lifted my head it seemed she was still fixated on me. Her companion, still oblivious, was talking on about something, but honestly I don’t think either of us was listening. This time she looked away, quickly glancing down, then to her right, before coming back to our shared stare. In that moment, I had managed to regain my composure enough to break a small smile in her direction. She blushed, looked down again, and waved her left hand. A hand which had a series of small symbols painted on with a pen, surrounding a larger dancing girl, that seemed to sway as she waved. Her friend had finally noticed the attention she was missing, and grabbed my young artist's arm forcing her away. As her friend pulled her off, she turned around motioning something to me, so I followed them while maintaining my distance. As I faked interest in the present CDs, she turned around a second time to give me a coy look with pleading eyes. As they continued to walk farther away, I could not break my gaze at the amazing woman, who in her third attempt to turn around caught her colleague’s attention. Now with this dangerous duo starring straight at me, I ducked behind a shelf filled with discount items. From behind my refuge I could hear a small giggle which slowly slipped into laughter. We continued our dance around the store, all the while holding conversations in our eyes. My mind was bouncing ideas and possibilities against a giant wall of guilt which eventually forced me to leave the establishment.

       I finished my day by brooding over a meal, and returning home to relax. After the ritualistic cleaning out my e-mail’s inbox from its stacks of junk mail, I turned on the television so that I could be present when SNL started. Having tuned in much too early, I still had the last of ‘Pretender’ and a thirty minute news cast to sit through. While ‘Pretender’ was showing it’s closing credits the news had a thirty second blurb for its upcoming episode. I wasn’t really paying attention, but my ears perked up when mention of something at the mall I had been at only an hour before. I waited for the news to start, hopping for clarification of this curious coincidence.

       “...for another senate debate.” The anchor woman said, “Yet on a tragic note, our leading story involves a double homicide just outside the Tucson Mall.”

       As the story progressed, we learn of a drunken college student racing to a holiday weekend party. Once the anchors had built up the villain of their story, they turned the focus onto the drunk’s passenger and the driver of the receiving vehicle; local college student, 19 year old Samantha Cartwright. As we learned about the two victims, we get to see pictures of them, to help us build the necessary emotional bonds. They begin mostly showing picture of the female victim, and we get to watch this young girl as she grows up. Finally they show a picture taken only a week ago at a party celebrating her first year of college. Suddenly I felt my breathing stop, and my heart beat get even harder. It was her, my afternoon mistress, the girl I couldn’t rid from my mind.

       “She’s dead.” I whispered, breathing again to replenish the oxygen talking had dispelled. I sat there for a moment, lost in the thoughts of possibilities, no longer listening to the broadcast or the noise coming from outside my apartment door. I starred blankly, not really seeing, or understanding what I had just heard. By the time the melee of thoughts had run their course, and I was able to understand my native tongue again, the television demigods had moved onto an upcoming festival. Now I am left alone with these thoughts and flashes of sadistic memories, thinking of all the things I could have done, and just how often we get once in a lifetime chances...

       “I should have done things differently... I am sorry Samantha.”