Spring, Miami Beach
Life changing moments are all too rare, and they're usually not recognized as such until they are well past. Their significance and how they affect us for the long term is not readily apparent until some introspection takes place and then pow!, you realize that what you had thought had been a slow evolution of behavior or outlook actually occurred in one split second's worth of experience.
Such is the case with my viewpoint toward women. Where for the longest time I was under the false impression that my attitude was built over the distillation of many experiences, I now see that there was one specifice incident which affected me so profoundly, yet so sublty, that only my subconscious took note. Now, in 20/20 hindsight, it's easy for me to see why I've become the way I am.
I had been out rollerblading on a beautiful south Florida day. There were tourists and locals alike enjoying the sea air and scenery the South Beach district affords. As a guy in his mid-twenties, I'm easily distracted by the gorgeous girls who flock to where the scene is to see and be seen.
I had worked as a cabana boy at a local resort while I was in college at UM, so I had plenty of experiences with tourist girl and local honey alike. I own a successful business which allows me occasional midweek time to pursue wine, women and song. I've reached a point in my life that offers both great challenge and great reward, and I'm loving every second of it.
I was zipping along Collins Avenue, one block off the shore when I saw a little terrier-type dog running right down the middle of the busy street, heading away from me. I checked for cars, then hopped off the sidewalk and put on the afterburners. I came up behind him, my long stride and speedy wheels being so much faster than his tiny legs, and scooped him up with my left hand. I cradled him close to my body, then took another look behind me before moving back to the sidewalk.
The dog was just a puppy and appeared well-cared for. He had a collar and tag, but I figured his owner must be somewhere nearby. I headed back the way I had come, taking it slowly while talking to the little pooch to keep him calm. He settled right down, glad to be protected and off the street.
After backtracking two blocks and a half blocks I came to a stop outside a little café which had tables set up on the sidewalk. Just as I was about to ask one of the patrons if she had seen where the dog might have come from, a frantic voice called out.
"Sir, sir!"
She was behind me, whoever she was, so I turned and saw running across the street a rather frumpy looking young girl wearing baggy pants, a long sleeved shirt and a hideous floppy hat. As she drew close I saw the look of near panic on her face.
"Oh my God! Benji! Oh my God!"
"You can call me Chris," I said with a smile. The little dog was squirming under my arm, recognizing his owner. She gave me the tiniest hint of a smile for my attempt at humor then reached for her pup.
I handed Benji over and she brought him to her face, which carried a look of relief mixed with consternation as she scolded him for running off. She looked up at me and I finally noticed that she was neither a young girl, nor rather plain. She was stunning. She either knew it and chose to downplay it, or had no idea. I could barely take my eyes off her.
"Thank you so much!" she gushed, reaching out and putting her hand on my arm.
It was a simple gesture, but it conveyed a great deal of emotion. She felt the need to explain how he came to be loose, telling me the saga in great detail as she bent the brim of her hat back so she could look up at me. How she had looped the end of his leash around the leg of a chair while she went inside one of the little shops in the Lincoln Street Mall.
"They don't allow dogs inside," she complained, "even little ones like Benji that I can carry around with me. Isn't that stupid?" She looked up at me with big brown eyes the color of a mocha latte´.
"Anyway, he must have been startled, or maybe someone moved the chair, and off he went like a rocket. I kept looking out at him through the window of the shop, and saw when he got loose."
The poor girl was shaking like a leaf from nerves, so I suggested we sit down and get a cold drink. She smiled a dazzling smile and agreed, but only if she could treat. We sat at one of the tables which had an umbrella for shade. I took off my shades and placed them on the table, then kicked off my rollerblades. She removed her hat, allowing me to see for the first time her thick, raven black hair which framed a face unlike any I've seen before.
She looked Castilian Spanish, with a wee bit of Irish, and perhaps a hint of Polynesian thrown in for good measure. Her wide-spaced eyes were almond shaped; dark and moody under thick brows plucked to perfection. Her lips were full and inviting around a small, pouty mouth. High cheekbones and a delicate chin made her oval face a delight in symmetry. Talk about the face of a model. But her she was not tall enough to haunt the runways of the fashion world, and I suspected her body might be a bit too curvy, although I really had no clear picture due to the baggy clothes she wore. I noticed her skin was clear and pale, as if never touched by the sun. Not what one usually sees in South Beach.
"Oh my gosh, I am so rude!" she exclaimed. "I haven't even introduced myself." She held out her hand for me to shake. "I'm Amanda Crosby. And as you know, this is Benji." She held out his little paw for me to shake first, and then her own. I chuckled and played along.
"Chris Stewart," I said, holding her hand for a split second longer than social courtesy demands. Surprisingly, she held onto mine even longer.
"I can't thank you enough," she sighed. "We just moved here two days ago --- we meaning my dad and me," she giggled, her emotions running a rollercoaster after the near tragedy. "Benji is still in city shock. He was a suburban pup, weren't you boy," she said as she scratched his back. "My dad's an airline pilot, just switching over from the military. We bought a condo and now here we are," she said with a dismissive shrug. "I guess it's better than Omaha, but it's gonna take some getting used to."
She looked at our surroundings. Palm trees, bright sun bouncing off windshields, people of all nationalities and shapes cruising the tourist shops, the sea air fresh and clean despite the number of cars and scooters buzzing the streets. It was February, and I could only imagine what Omaha must be like.
After releasing my hand she said in a perky tone, "In fact, you're the first person I've met formally, other than the concierge at the condo. So I guess this makes you the first friend I've made here in Florida! Can you believe that?"
I didn't know what to say so I merely smiled fatuously at her, liking her immediately but thinking she was a bit provincial.
"So what do you do, besides rollerblade and work out?" she asked in a frank tone, taking a long look at my muscular chest and shoulders under my tank top shirt.
"How much time do you have?" I laughed, looking away slightly embarrassed by her candor.
"All day," she replied, looking into my eyes. "Me and Benji are at loose ends while my dad's training out at the airport." She looked down at the table and let out a long sigh. "My mom died about a year ago in a car crash. She was coming home from work and it was snowing. A tractor-trailer jack knifed and landed right on top of her Miata. That's why my dad and I moved down here – to get away from all those memories."
I put my hand on top of hers and told her I was sorry for her loss, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"So you were about to tell me what you do -- you're a model or something, right?" She sipped her water through the straw, making her lips pucker. Very hot.
"Me? A model?" I asked in surprise. "No, I'm not a model."
"Well you look like one! But so does just about everybody down here, other than the tourists."
