Once again this is not a stroke piece but a different sort of love story that deals with fate, design and a master plan.
Marti Dodson, the lead singer for the pop/rock group "Saving Jane" ---and they do know how to rock --- has penned (or co-written) a hauntingly authentic series of songs that deal with teenage female angst. The group's first hit, "Girl Next Door," is the story about a girl "in the marching band", the "girl next door" and her struggle to deal with her envy of the lucky one..."Miss America", the prom queen, senior class president, head cheerleader who "gets a whole lot more" while the girl next door "gets a little bit".
I love these kinds of songs sung by female pop singers with unique, even untrained voices. Not to be sexist but this a female genre; no one wants to hear a male pop singer whine about things. Just for the record, there is nothing whiny about Marti and her group, Saving Jane.
So, in that spirit and with memories of and apologies to that great Reba McEntire song/video, "Somebody":
...he saw his future in her eyes...
...he wonders why...searched so long...
...she was always there...all along.
This is a story about that unremarkable---at least in the world in which she exists---but indeed special girl who gets missed, overlooked ignored, pushed to the background and underestimated until that magic day when a man walks into her life who has eyes only for her...eyes that see her as unique and special and who "sees his future in her eyes".
It had been a long shift and Moira's feet where aching; as often happened on a weekend, someone bailed on their assigned shift and "good little Moira" agreed to work a double. It was a good job and she was a damn good bartender. The tips were better at the bar than waiting tables; she had a friendly smile and a willing ear and even traditionally cheap college students had the decency to be reasonably generous.
She planned to quit bar tending for awhile; her rent was paid up and she had a little savings and needed a break at least through the end of the semester which was only a few weeks away.
There weren't really many poor college students here. Moira laughed to herself as she recalled her decision to attend this upscale private university. She had been offered a full scholarship at State which included room and board. Her scholarship to this ivy clad upper crust institution covered tuition and fees but little more. It was the top school in her chosen field in the world. She had the brains, grades and test scores to be here; what she was short on was money.
She had a small handful of friends at school; most were much like her, terribly bright but decidedly middle class. She had never been invited home to one of the palatial west or east coast "compounds" of the many astoundingly wealthy families who often endowed entire buildings to get their son or daughter admitted. Some were legacies—the children of former graduates. All the money in the world wouldn't get you in here if your were completely intellectually wanting but, for those students who had failed to excel prior to college, there was always the extra lift provided by daddy's or mummy's money.
The elite seldom dated out of their "class" unless they were just looking to get laid. She'd endured a few of those overtures but had not succumbed to any of them. She had a couple of male friends from her study group, geeky, brilliant and as out of place in the social scene as she was. Through almost four years of college, she couldn't really say she'd been on a real date or had anything remotely resembling a relationship.
It was just as well; she didn't need distractions. She was only a few weeks away from graduating with a perfect Summa academic record. Her professors adored her and with most of the grade work for the current semester already submitted there was little doubt that she would graduate at the top of her class.
And then on to grad school and quite probably more time spent in her secondary career---bartending---a family business of sorts. Her father owned a bar; her mother worked there off and on as did her brother and sister. She would certainly pursue a doctorate; her field demanded that level of academic achievement. It was very doubtful that she would ever achieve any real degree of wealth in her chosen career field. Make a significant contribution to the world? Maybe...hopefully. Fame and fortune? Doubtful...maybe fame but only among a very select group of academics and researchers.
Moira was a reasonably pretty girl---certainly cute. Back home in her tiny middle America small town, she had certainly been considered cute. In the gene pool that seemed to dominate this university she was almost ordinary; perfect teeth, boobs, butts, legs, cheekbones and hair abounded. A few she suspected had already been medically enhanced.
Moira was Irish on both sides; her freckles, pale skin and flaming red locks attested to that fact. Her wide set green eyes and bright smile could light up a room. She didn't enjoy the height advantage that many of her well-heeled classmates enjoyed; she was just a hair over five-five. At the moment with beer and assorted fruit concoctions staining her somewhat formless uniform, beads of sweat breaking out on her makeup-free face and support hose and running shoes adorning her legs and feet, she was not looking or feeling "babe-like".
The bar crowd had thinned somewhat; this place was a jumping off point and many had drifted off to private parties or simply hooked up and gone off someplace to fuck. It had been a very busy shift and her body appreciated the brief respite as she perched her tired butt on the edge of a stool near the register.
She noticed him the second he came in the door. It wasn't the way he looked; it was something more. He didn't walk like a typical college student; his gait and carriage spoke of confidence but also caution.
In the short distance from the entrance to the bar, his eyes swept the room, taking in every detail. One couldn't miss the eyes---amazing blue eyes. He was dressed in modest shorts and a polo; she would have bet that he had pressed them both.
Having reviewed the scene his posture relaxed ever so slightly. Their eyes met; he smiled easily, not forced, not leering nor the typical fake smile so common in these parts. Up close, the eyes were positively captivating; she knew those eyes; she had dreamed of a man with those eyes. He moved to the bar and took the seat directly in front of her. The deep, pacific ocean blue eyes never left hers. He spoke, extending his hand as he did so.
"You look beat. I'm Jeff. I apologize for interrupting what is probably the first break you've had all night but could I trouble you for a beer?"
Moira took his hand and shook it. "Moira. What's your pleasure?"
"Something a little dark, recently tapped on draft?"
"Foreign or domestic?"
"Domestic."
"I've got just the ticket; it's long on hops, a little bitter, more of an ale than a stout and made right up the street; I just tapped the keg."
"You read my mind!" he replied with a grin; it was an easy, warm, safe, comforting grin.
Moira always chatted with her customers; it was part of the reason she was considered the best bartender in the joint. It also made her the top tip earner. Sliding the frosted pint across the bar, she engaged.
"I don't recall ever seeing you in here before and I never forget a face."
