Signals

Sitting on a stool at Starbucks, she tugged at her miniskirt and looked at herself in the mirror she had retrieved from her Gucci purse.

She pursed her lips as if blowing herself a kiss. When she looked up our eyes met and I gave her a friendly smile. She immediately frowned, wrinkled up her face, turned her back and pretended to stare out the window.

“Bye, nice to meet you,” I said as I walked by her and out the door.

“Next time bring your camera and take a picture, jerk,” she sneered.

***

Sitting on a stool at Starbucks, she tugged at her miniskirt and looked at herself in the mirror she had retrieved from her Gucci purse.

When she looked up, our eyes met and I gave her a friendly smile.

“It’s you! I didn’t think you were coming. Some jerk just tried to hit on me.”

I met her as a phlebotomist drawing her blood at a local hospital. I always told her she was beautiful but she said I wouldn’t think so after she lost her hair and sex drive from her chemo treatments.

We made a date for four weeks after her treatments ended.

"You don’t need to keep checking in the mirror; it looks great. No one would ever know you’re wearing a wig."

She smiled.

“I think you’re lying, but thank you anyway.”

The frown lines on her face showed the pain and stress she was enduring.

I held her hand and we talked. It was the best date I ever had.