Poker Face

Last night I met Kristina, a Russian girl who was just as tall as me and had been in the States for only four months. She apologized for the poor language skills and I actually noted to her that for only being here a few months, it was not that horrible. My teasing her did not register on her.
It was unreal. The second week in a row I meet a Russian girl and paranoid as I am, what I thought was, maybe I'm sending off some Russian vibe into the universe. Last week Russian girl was petite, had a model type of body, and just as many beautiful women was unbearable. She asked me if someone was sitting on any of the two seats next to me, and I said: "Yeah, this seat is taken" and I pointed out to the seat right next to me. Then the casual friend who was sitting next to me rushed over and offered her and her friend his seat. I shook my head mentally, and decided to abandon him to his delusion of thinking that just because he had a nice gesture, he'd get anywhere with them.
The difference between the two Russian girls, the one last week and the one last night, was that last week there were more people there and I had more than that one interaction. In fact, the guy who was sitting next to me was a friend of a girl I know, nothing much really but I enjoy teasing her and initially hadn't done so because I thought there might be a possibility she was with that jerk friend of hers. Of course, the guy was not a jerk, but here he was, tall enough, built like only a mixed martial artist can be. And yet, he lacked the refinement of character and disposition required to attract a girl. I took pity on him initially, until he embarrassed me by telling the girl I considered to be the most beautiful at the bar that I had deemed her so. Since that moment on, I disowned him, and moved abruptly to undo the damage done by simply ignoring the girl in question. It worked, the girl did not know if she could verify what the guy had said and I continued to play aloof.
It was good sitting quietly there, sipping my drink and thinking of the next time I'd see my dear Russian friend Anastasia. I'd see her again on Tuesday, not Monday as we had convened, briefly at noon to give a bouquet of flowers I got her honoring her 22nd birthday. And then I saw her the next day, in the afternoon again, and we took a stroll down my aunt's house. My aunt wasn't home and Jorge opened the door after we had sat in the bench outside for a while. I teased her that not kissing was no reason to have chapped lips. We went inside my aunt's house, invited by Jorge, and played with the dog Sonny for a while, before she had the idea of going back to my place to watch a movie. On Amazon, I ordered "The Number 23" and streamed it to my 51 inch Samsung TV. We were getting cozy when my mother made an abrupt entrance, and a while later, as soon as the movie was finished, I walked her home and she went about her aerobic zumba dance somewhere in the city and I went about seeing my son Esteban. I proposed we meet later that night for more movie watching, but then she didn't say anything and when I sent her a text I did not get a reply for an hour, so I gave up. I haven't called her or text her since then, more than four days ago. What seems odd is the fact that I have briefly met two Russian girls, whom I flat-out denounced as "spy" friends respectively, but the likelihood of that being the case, that is, those Russian girls being friends whom she sent there to spy, is remote and quite foolish. Nonetheless, I was suspicious as to why, since I have been on this earth, not that I remember all that has happened, but I can say quite confidently that I have never met two Russian girls in two consecutive weeks at the same local bar while being sort of involved with a sweet Russian girl myself. The one last week, I discarded, because when I asked for her name, she replied: "No name." So I kept calling her that and we were having sporadic moments until we coincided outside for a cigarette and I left without saying anything. We had had a conversation when I pointed out that I thought she was a spy. A Russian spy, a friend of my Russian fling. She asked why did I bother talking to her if I was so worried about the possibility of her knowing my girlfriend. "She's not my girlfriend, she's my girl friend" I said. "You shouldn't talk to other girls when you feel so strongly about her." Then I said: "What the fuck are you talking about? That's preposterous!" But she kind of made sense, girls are very intuitive and she must have sensed that I was more worried than my normal self was letting out to be. I walked home and left her with half her cigarette, and still thinking of the moment when I next see my Russian friend Anastasia and demand to know if she had sent some spies there that or any other night. We have had a great friendship and I have had relationships of this kind: non-defined, easy-going, no goal in mind. It is good to have such relationships, especially with women who are used to guys throwing themselves at their feet or saying that they want more. We always want more, so I think there's something noble to be able to restrain your instincts and care and tend to someone not based on a romantic agenda. We have had something, we do have something, but the fact that it is something unconventional and unique, something that has all the ingredients of a great love affair, makes it the more alluring, enigmatic, precious and tantalizing thing, not just some. More than something, we have been intimate, made love and fucked, but mostly cuddled and not kiss (as it is her wish to go to the altar without having kissed me, this is driving me insane) and I have kissed her forcibly a few times. She still comes around, she knows she's safe around me, and whatever is happening inside that cutie blond head of hers isn't really my concern. I remember that the bartender Erin and I had a similar affair, we were friends who looked like lovers, we too slept in the same bed, cuddled, even made out but then we found ourselves with respective lovers and we drifted apart. I remember a feeling I don't want to have again over that ordeal and it is that if the girl is not going to be mine, I may not waste her and my time anymore than it is necessary. So, no, I want this and then again I don't want it, so I put time in between. Maybe it's a matter of a few days, a few weeks, but I will definitely push the envelope. Oh, yeah, we talked about getting married, I said it was because of blond ambition. And it's not like I sit idly home and wait for a phone call that won't come, my phone never rings and I'm not a phone person. I had Beth come over and spent some quality time with my son. I went out on Saturday. I made some new friends. I worked out. I smoked and drank, but never too much. I had a nice conversation with my cousin Gio. But I missed my cousin Alan and I miss my Russian girl friend Ana, and I may seem like I'm being too proud or too stoic about it but the fact is, I am not. I just like to do without, and I know I am alone and I know that it takes time for someone to love us. But if our effort isn't validated, sometimes you gotta go all in or just put down your cards. I am not one apt candidate for a poker face stance. We want to feel wanted, to hold our girl's hand, to take her out on a weekend, take her to the movies... and not be instead this safe alternative guy who likes day walks and movies in the apartment.

So the fact that last night I found another Russian girl when there were fewer than five girls left, and the fact that it had happened for a second week in a row, I took notice. There's no such a thing as coincidence, but things of this nature happen to me on a regular basis. And so last night I had a different strategy: I actually wanted to feel what it was like to hold and be held, to kiss kissable lips, to feel wanted for a change right before that tall Russian girl walked out of the bar. We kissed twice, once briefly, I sort of pushed myself into it. She had said if it was destiny, we would meet again; I knew I wouldn't see her again under those terms, so I unleashed all of my stamina and rapport unto her. She responded shyly, but the second time around it was her who initiated it. We kissed briefly, open lips this second time around, wet and deep, half-closed eyes. We were envied for a little while, and we had done this when there was no other girls left at the bar, just drunk people. I had gotten there late, as I was just home. Saturday nights are such a hype and I retired them long ago. Saturdays are too much work, the best people I've met, I met them on broad day light, not at night, and I met them on every other day of the week. Saturdays are for lunatics and youngsters who want to believe that life is short, that is about hitting on as many girls as possible and binge drinking and whatnot. I am not being a prune, but I have already lived that. Now I just sit back and relax and have an out of control moment very rarely.
I may give this girl a call and see what's she's up to, but not tonight.