Waving Not Drowning

He walks by her house every single day, sometimes twice if his neighbour needs him to walk her dog. He could take a different route but Carrie's house is situated exactly halfway between his house and the hipster dog park. Bongo gives him the perfect excuse to casually stroll and linger in front of her bay window while the pup noses around the hedge by the sidewalk where Larry surreptitiously drops some kibble. The snacks give him an extra two minutes, maybe more, where he can position himself in such a way that if Carrie is in the living room or the upstairs bedroom, even down the hall in the kitchen with the drapes open, he can take her in. Revel in her wonder. She's incredible. His heart dances in his chest, speeding up so fast that he's sure he's having an attack. A few deep breaths, mindful counting to 10, and he's back in control. Until she tilts her head and her bangs brush across her forehead, obscuring her face from his view. He panics, jockeying for a clea...

It's the back of his head. The shape of his neck, how his ears sit on the sides of his skull. The way his spine moves, if it's fluid or locked; Zoe falls in love with the back of his body. A rather attractive guy gets on the streetcar or passes by on the sidewalk. She sees him check her out; she makes eye contact, then starts the checklist: could I love that neck? Do I see myself with those ears for the rest of my life? That back- rather rigid and held through the thoracic mid section, doesn't seem to have a lot of awareness going on. Probably not athletically inclined. Oh, wait. No, that would never do. He has no bum. Flat assed. Oh no. Nononono. I can't see loving that, no, not me. Another man sits down. He's directly across from her in the coffee shop, pulls out his laptop, plugs in his earbuds and starts to tap away, focused and easy, with a calm, zen-like energy. Zoe is intrigued. He gets up from the table to fetch his order off the bar and she sees it: the ba...

There's a faint birthmark on the outside of her right hip, a small, quarter-sized landmark, shaped like Africa. In summer months, it grows darker, deeper in colour, and the edges become more defined. Chris refers to it as the disappearing continent. Winter nights as Alice lies on her side, Chris runs his hand alongside the curve of her bum, extending his fingers as they drop into the deep valley of her waist, resting under her lowest rib, the tip of his index finger almost reaching her belly button. He memorizes the placement of Africa in relation to his pinky finger as it wraps around the crest of her pelvis. Like disappearing ink, it's faded to a faint shadow, an old tattoo whose ink is being reabsorbed by the body. Physical sense memory helps him mark it's placement: his hands know their journey. Alice's scars are a roadmap on her body. The thin line under her chin from falling off her bike at 7 years old, trying to ride with Duke alongside on his leash; matching rou...

She is breathtakingly beautiful. That's not just a saying, Marinda really does take people's breath away. Men walk into telephone poles passing her on the street. Light standards- they bounce off and grapple for a moment to find equilibrium then follow her with their gaze until she's out of sight. Longing.  It's an ease, a quiet confidence coupled with stunning beauty; a grace and elegance married in strength and sexuality. Power. Potential. Men and women want to sleep with her. Marry her. Possess her, ingest her then travel the world with her, climbing mountains and rescuing malnourished orphan children while digging wells in Eritrea with her. She inspires that depth of devotion. A fascination and dedication known only by gurus and cult leaders. Except she's neither. Never practiced yoga a day in her life. Namaste what? As for cults, her parents escaped with the family when she was 3. Her brother and sister have made a relative go of things in the outside world. Be...

Just stand to the right, smile and hand out brochures, that's all Emily was required to do. If anyone asked her where the showroom was or how to get to the bathroom, she should point them in the right direction but under no circumstance was she to engage in small talk. That was not her job. Smile, stand silently, be beautiful. Alluring. That was the word used in the craigslist post. She could do alluring in her sleep. She had, actually. Thankfully that tape never saw the light of day. Could be worse. There was the Auto Show where she had to solicit men to fill in questionnaires concerning their driving habits. An exercise in keep away, avoiding incessant casual gropings and brush bys, the not so subtle come ons and outright lewd propositions. It's amazing what some men think they can get away with. Even in tailored trousers, a button up blouse and ballet flats Emily is a magnet for attention, men and women alike. It took her years to come to terms with her physical power and fi...