Her dress was a bright, primary blue, low cut and just barely made it midway down her thigh.
After my normal Saturday night out, I hopped on the Metro and sat down in a seat near the middle of the car. The girl in the blue dress was already there, one seat ahead and on the opposite side of the car. She was engaged in a conversation with two guys in button-down short sleeve shirts and khaki shorts. They were probably wearing sandals.
While the color of the dress caught my attention, what drew me in was the conversation. The cadence of her voice spoke of self-assurance (and a lack of heavy drinking that night). The words were laced with a vigor and wit that far surpassed the comprehension of the two guys.
It was only after that made me smile that I noticed the cut of the dress and the large and deep “U” shaped scar just below her right knee. It was what he was talking about.
I wonder if the story she told, of falling on a brick sidewalk after a night of heavy drinking was true or just an entertaining fiction to keep the still-inebriated boys at bay. With her confidence and athletic build, I’d be more inclined to believe it was a sports injury.
Alas, I will never know.
They boys, after one last, desperate failed attempt to get her number, got off one stop after I got on. As the doors closed, she smiled and shook her head in that all too familiar “What a couple of losers” way, laughing to herself, probably for the same reasons I was laughing to myself.
She didn’t look in my direction. If she had, she would have seen me smiling and I would have felt compelled to make a comment about the scar and the story she told.
At the next stop, she got off the train, leaving me along with my lingering crush and imagined stories I’d tell if I had a similar scar.
