I Didn’t Care to Listen

I lived in the heart of a tourist coastal city, with fabulous beachfronts and wild nightlife entertainment. The weather was always perfect at night and scorching during the day. Local girls always toyed with the idea of meeting a man from out of the country, during his short visit and desire to do everything in that time span.

I wasn’t any different. I had my moments.

I was a dirty blonde with a need to do my hair soon, visible roots of natural brunette. My dress size rarely changed, and in high heels I was towering over most of the men on the dance floor.

I had my nails always done and I was proud of my soft and always tan skin color. I certainly put up a good fight and was never afraid of the competition to scoop up a cute guy from across the ocean.

I didn’t have a steady relationship nor was I looking for one, but I admired the lavish weddings and expensive wedding dresses. Someday I envisioned myself having one of those big and loud weddings on the beach, while everyone is overdressed for the occasion.

All eyes on me, I was the center of attention and gossip. But those thoughts would come during the lonely period, usually the rainy season, when tourist visits would come to a halt.

Majority of my jobs were part-time and I couldn’t find anything that would keep my mind for too long, especially during the hot summer season. I didn’t pay much attention to my life choices and I always got what I wanted.

Most nights I would get terribly drunk at the expense of other men but I would always wake up in my own bed.

My life was rolling along the coastline and I didn’t have a care in the world.

I met him at the lounge during one of the hottest nights. He was tall, athletic, had a great smile and he definitely knew how to flirt. I didn’t give too much attention to him; he got me drinks, lots of them and told me what I wanted to hear. He was great.

One thing that was vaguely disturbing was his piercing never-changing eyes. He was visiting the city from a work trip somewhere out East. I don’t remember the name. I didn’t care to listen.

It was all about me and my entertainment. He was just another temporary toy.

Every night we would have drinks, shift from one bar to another, talk about nothing, and make no plans.

He would always stare into the distance and at times it took me a few nudges to get his attention, because of my empty glass.

I was annoyed.

Being a gentleman, he would walk me back to my place and make plans for tomorrow.

“Same time, same place,” he would say, while looking at his old-looking, scratched-up watch.

During the day, before going out for dinner and drinks, we laughed a lot, he smiled all the time and made stupid faces.

Then he would fill his lungs with air followed by a loud exhale. He often said, “I love this place and I am having the time of my life,” I could see it was true.

I asked him once, “How was your sleep?”

He said something about “checking the names of the guys, making sure they were alright.”

I did not understand that answer, maybe it was part of his work—or maybe I didn't care. I laughed it off, but something about the way he said it sat wrong for a moment.

It was our third night partying and he still didn’t ask to come to my place nor if I wanted to visit his hotel suite.

This night he got seriously drunk, wasn’t stumbling nor making a fool out of himself, importantly, I wasn’t embarrassed.

He talked about distant incoherent stories of some type of work events in the hot desert and high mountains.

As long as he was paying for me, he could say anything he wanted, except that night he mentioned something about “wasting dudes” and “picking up pieces off the ground” that apparently, he knew.

The fourth night went from bad to worse.

I slightly hesitated to meet him again, because I didn’t want to hear his stupid stories. He was getting aggressive saying them. Not towards me, he never touched me and he always maintained a distance from me, which I really liked.

When he got drunk, he heavily slurred his speech. What a loser.

The eyes and constant stare while not blinking freaked me out and the shit he would say started to bother me.

His whole-body gesture would change from flirty to aggressive.

We still went out that night. As per usual, he paid for my drinks and I would dance all night at his expense. Then he ended up talking to random guys about “being in contact” and making open palm gestures. I was getting impatient.

Fortunately, he disappeared that night, which allowed me to dance freely without any interruptions.

Life was great for me, until he got back all pissed-drunk with aggressive movements while saying something about “loading caskets into the plane”.

I had enough of his drunken stupidity. I screamed at him; people looked but I didn’t care. He was ruining my night. I yelled at him while cursing his ass; being a pathetic loser that no one cared for, and hoped that he would fucking die.

I haven’t seen him for several nights and it was fantastic. I enjoyed my life and everything that it had to offer; the warmth, the ocean, the music and amazing new people I met thereafter. I was starting to forget about him and his stupid behavior, I had bigger plans. I didn’t feel like wasting my life on some drunken moron.

That evening, walking along the main street and feeling the night breeze I saw his figure approaching me.

“Not him again, fuck!” I thought to myself. I rapidly crossed the road to the opposite side, just so as not to be on the same side as him.

I was terrified.

“How is it going?” he said while smiling.

“Well, that was different,” I thought to myself. He seems nicer than before and maybe even so slightly sad.

“You know I am kind of busy now, I am meeting my boyfriend for dinner,” I lied. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I just didn’t want to talk to him.

“I wasn’t asking you out,” he said.

“My time is coming to an end, I am leaving soon,” he said again.

I happily exhaled. “That’s very good,” I said with a smile.

“Hope you had fun here and enjoyed the trip,” I said in a rush while turning around and walking the opposite direction towards the night district, away from him.

I never saw him again after that, I assumed he left, which was a relief to me.

I continued living my life in the fast lane and enjoying dancing all night long under the stars.

I was bored at home one day; my head was pounding after a long night of drinking and dancing. My feet were killing me, and I had a blister. “Just fantastic!” I thought to myself.

The TV was on as background noise, which I didn’t pay much attention to. The news were on. They were talking about how some soldiers got killed in the Middle East. It wasn’t interesting at all, but I was too lazy to switch the channel. I glanced at the TV to see if my cellphone was nearby, and they showed the faces of those soldiers.

My heart started to race.

I gave it a second look. I think I recognized one of them. I looked closely again.

It was him.