Kate Expectations

I guess I first noticed her as I shuffled my way to the front of the queue. If truth be told, it wasn't so much a shuffle to the front of the queue as an exodus through the door by those who were ahead of me. Actually, if truth be told, it wasn't the first time that I had noticed her either, for I had returned to the place specifically to see her again. It was a part of my inner workings I couldn't quite pinpoint; why was I immediately emotionally tied to someone I didn't know? The fried noodles at that place had all the trimmings of anything that I consider legendary, like S&M nights you only hear about through people in the innermost circle of selective knowledge, like those dwarves on stilts who suddenly appear in alleys.

If truth be told, I guess I always had an excuse to fall back on if things ever got ugly; if, for whatever ungodly reason, she suddenly fell out of love with me. If the real truth be told, I mean really told in a truthful way, the fantasies that kept bringing me back involved both her and the noodles in equal and often intermingled proportions. She was the perspective reality to the internet porn I so copiously devoured; the noodles were the money shot. In this devious head were acres of sexual promiscuity I had devoted entirely to her. My sexual repertoire was ready to be unleashed. And only failure stood in my way.

She was a vision made manifest, a protest song in denim, and just the antichrist my movement had been seeking. And yet, for all my dimestore training, I lacked the salesman savvy to close the deal. Truth be told and since I'm so afraid of those strange metallic devices hovering over me: I didn't even have the guts to say hell-o. But the noodles were as good as when served by memory.

The rampantly diminishing line threw my mental timing out so I sat myself on a swivel chair to avoid a scene. Next to me was a dark-haired guy with beady eyes throwing his entire weight at a dip of unknown content. Some type of flat bread I had never seen before acted as the conduit for his intake of carbohydrates. If truth be told, I couldn't distinguish carbohydrates from protein. This guy had the physical qualities of a terrorist. That in itself was nothing short of typical for the current state of this deranged city as terrorists congregated with normal people like me much in the manner that grasses and weeds congregated; without questions asked. Apart from the dip and flat incarnation of what I assumed was bread, what struck me as odd about this particular terrorist were the diving tanks and buoyancy vest strapped around his chest. A conversation to clarify was required.

'What're they for?' I asked.

'Diving,' he replied after giving me a once-over scan with his enormous beady eyes.

He had dip residue on the side of his mouth. If truth be told, it was another triumph for poor table manners.

'Why are you here dressed in that?'

'I dress to impress.'

'Who are you trying to impress?'

'Her.'

If truth be told, I was willing to behead and gut this most curious of terrorists before he had finished his single-word response. His hairy masculine index finger had pointed to the very girl I had been basing my infatuation on. He wiped the dip from his mouth with his other hand.

I had to act swiftly, and it was fortunate that I had a stack of Watchtower back issues in my handy red tote bag. 'If the truth be told,' I told him truthfully, 'what I really want to talk to you about is whether or not you have been saved.' I handed him a few flyers. Truth be told, nothing gets rid of a terrorist faster than god-talk. I mean the guy left a trail of steaming rice pudding he took off so fast; my plan had worked!

But maybe too well, or perhaps not fast enough. I was still basking in success's glow when I noticed peripherally the girl of my current fantasies forking a final pea into her veluptuous mouth. She hadn't wasted any time nursing her clamato or scaring off competing alpha predators in scuba gear. And once again, speaking here with raw truth told honesty, I once again had to act swiftly, never my strong point despite recent success with regards to certain terrorists.

I stared gape-mouthed long enough for her to swallow her pea, and I don't think she bothered chewing it, before standing quickly, tripping over the leg of my table, sending Watchtower back issues touting the 'only true religion' fluttering across the room. Of course, in all honest truth-telling, one landed on her gravy-spattered plate. She picked it up, quickly licked it off, opened it, and appeared to swallow the bile that emerged in her throat. She looked at me with utter unbearable contempt. My sheepish grin only served to make me look like an evangelical mormon.

In a flash she was on me, inflicting the greatest pain and pleasure I've experienced, clutching my testicles in a less than friendly vice-grip she stared into my baby blues and I noticed her eyes were red like flash photo. She growled at me and the gravel in her guts entered her words. 'Fools like you will bring nothing but armegeddon!' she snarled, and I couldn't help but sneak a peak cleavage-ward. 'Kate,' said a sparkling nametag over her left breast.

'It's not what you think, Kate,' I said meekly. 'To tell you the truth, I was just scaring away a terrorist.'

She slapped me hard, pushed my face into the mashed potatoes of a nearby professor of English literature, who gleefully poured gravy over my hair. Kate proceded to lick it off slavenly. When she was finished she told me, 'If you really want to scare some terrorists, meet me in the back alley at midnight, sharp. Don't be late, or truth be told I will eat your soul.'

I watched the clock tick by relentlessly.

Noodles fell from mouths, teriyaki dripped to the floor like lava and chopsticks click-clacked in undulating chatter as the minutes slowly clunked away.

Sharp, she said. Or they'll be hell to pay.

Finally, the big hand hammered against the bar and Eternity passed. I slid gratefully from my seat, careful not to disrupt the oxygen valve on the barfly's tanks. But not too careful. A satisfying hiss drifted away behind me as I slithered away from the scene and made for the back exit.

Steam from the vents oozed across the wet stone flags of the alley. Flickers of light punctured the darkness casting flash-frame outlines on the walls. My mouth ran dry as she strode out from behind the bins and sent her dark shadow creeping along the brickwork.

'You're late'.

This work of pure fiction, that has no resemblence to persons alive or formerly alive, has been a Kaufman and BenjiBopper production. Others may have been involved but the payroll clerk was out during the time of pre-publication uncertainty.