I met him
at a wedding and was instantly intrigued. But after several weeks passed and I
didn’t run into him again, I changed to tactics I learned while hunting.
First, I
scouted. I learned the layout of his general neighborhood and considered his
habits. I hoped to fire an arrow in his direction – Cupid’s arrow.
But after a
few more weeks passed, I began to think of him as like that elusive buck, that
one you see in the fields during the summer which is never seen again.
I had given
up when our paths crossed by chance in a local state park. But, he already had
someone with him.
She was
petite, with long nails and perfect makeup. In fact, the same amount of base
makeup could have been used to restore the quarter panels on a 1972 Impala
station wagon. She had her eyes trained on him in blank adoration, something
like the expression seen on deer in your headlights.
I caught a
blast of her perfume as they stopped to say hello. She had her arm laced
through his and she swayed on her high heels, which sank into the dirt path. My
heart sank too.
I’d given
up on “petite” in the second grade and didn’t own any shoes with heels. Most of
the footwear in my closet had thinsulate and goretex. I did sometimes wear
makeup, but it was the green, brown and black kind you smear on your face in a
camouflage pattern during deer season. And every now and then I misted myself
lightly with a raspberry-scented spray, which was a cover scent.
Introductions
were quick; and goodbyes even quicker. It looked like “beau” season was over,
and I hadn’t even gotten a shot. I’d found my quarry, but it had turned out
that he was attracted to someone who could have gutted a deer using the nail on
her index finger.
But later,
he called. He apologized for cutting our meeting so short. Blind date, he said,
and even outside, all that perfume had given him a headache. Was I free for
dinner sometime?
When I went
hunting that afternoon, I had a spring in my step and a feeling of optimism.
After all, I knew the secrets of a successful hunt.
