They Say It's Fear of Dying
By Dave Smith

October: A real provocative season; a time when it seems like the whole world is ready to shrivel and die, a time when a man's soul can become driven more by primal need than by logic.

It was still early on that drizzly Thursday night when their eyes first met. It couldn't have lasted for more than half a second, but that pulse of energy was unmistakable.

Stan smoothly swallowed the last swish of liquid flowing from the upturned bottle he held delicately in his left hand.

"God I love this", he chuckled to himself, as he placed the bottle down.

"Michelob Dry", he read the label again. It was easy to feel cool after two beers, especially for a light-weight.

Stan Davidson had tasted his first alcohol only two years before, just after his 28th birthday. Even now, when he drank, it was still so much like a ride to him that his own giddiness added to the effect of the drug for what amounted to twice the reduction in inhibitions that other people experienced. And underneath that cool exterior, Stan was a VERY friendly guy.

"Like another Mic?", the bartender asked.

"Naa, gi’mme a dark draft", Stan smiled.

He just couldn't speak to a pretty face without tacking on that smile at the end. And she WAS a good bartender... a VERY good bartender, ESPECIALLY when she leaned deep into that cooler for another one of those "Mics". "Mmmmmmm, forgot about that", Stan mused, "should've ordered another "Dry" one".

Stan let his eyes slowly scan the bar again to see what SHE was doing now. As her face came into view, that pulse came again. "There were those eyes again", he cooed to himself, "what an angel face!"

"Two and a quarter", the bartender announced as she slid the frosty mug into position on its round cork coaster.

Stan popped down a five and quietly studied her face as she stood at the register and returned with his change.

"Thanks", he said as he studied the pattern of colors in the iris of her eyes. She returned his smile.

"What's your name?", Stan asked, tilting back his head with lowered eyebrows.

"Uhlisa", she replied.

"Is that A-lisa or E-lisa?", he asked with a side-tilt of the head.

"Well", she replied, "It's actually E-lisa, but most people are too lazy to say it that way, so they just say 'Uhlisa'".

"OK, E-lisa", Stan beamed back to her, "I'm Stan, pleased to meet you!".

"Pleased to meet you", she smiled broadly. Then she turned to serve another customer.

"What a cool lady", Stan thought as he watched her lean into the cooler for another bottle, "and what a great ass! Mmmh."

Stan had lead a very repressed early life. But, during the last few years, he had been sort of, finding himself.

Suspected of being “mongoloid” at birth, he had been overprotected and spoiled as a child, even though he had checked out “just fine” at one year of age.

Life with his family had revolved around the “reconstructionist” strain of the Church of Christ style of the Protestant Christian religious faith, and nearly all of Stan’s social ties were from within a very select group of church friends. This proved to be an excellent method of producing a socially weak person.

Shortly after Stan and his family had relocated to another state, Stan mishandled a minor altercation with another schoolboy, and then dealt with that failure by totally immersing himself in his religion.

He had simply folded up inside himself with
his god, and related to the real world around him only through a cast of characters he developed to fulfill the sensed expectations of each situation, or applicable authority figure. One might wonder, sometimes, if he were schizophrenic.

Now, after realizing his true feelings and beliefs, deciding to begin to learn to assert his own thoughts and opinions, and, shouldering the weight of a recent divorce (the first in his family), and the resulting shock and rejection of his family, Stan had become somewhat stronger, and had adopted a new personal philosophy, which had become the theme of his activities:

"Seek out and liberate that formerly shackled majority of your spirit!", he had told himself, "Teach yourself to be a human being and live!".

Stan had made great strides in opening himself and expanding his world. He had found that, life in the world was actually quite pleasant; not all evil and dirty as he had once been taught and feared it, to motivate and perpetuate his denial of it.

He actually enjoyed being social these days, particularly with females. He no longer feared them as objects of his “evil lust”, which would cast him straight into hell. He had learned to befriend them and respect them as wondrous and excitingly beautiful companions in a world full of wonder.

One negative thing, which Stan had observed, in his new world, was the stubborn existence of the hang-ups and mis-conceptions that some people could have toward him. There was just enough real evil in the world to cause a few people to view others around them with the same contempt that he had formerly employed, based on those old beliefs. Knowing this, Stan had developed a sensitive cautiousness toward new acquaintances and prospective new acquaintances, like this pretty young lady he was playing “eye-tag” with this evening.

Stan leaned back in the heavy wooden bar chair and pulled deeply on that dark draft. Setting the mug back on the cork, he decided to go for it. Thinking about it made his mind feel tense, but the beer kept his body relaxed, and he found comfort in knowing that the eyes would calmly do as the brain commanded.

Stan lifted his gaze slowly from the mug to her table and sighed as his eyes rested easily on her face. She was talking with a couple seated at her table; a woman on her left and a man across from her. "She was alone with friends", he surmised, settling more comfortably into the chair.

He let his eyes slowly trace the line of her curvy pink lips, her nose and eyes, then down to her chin and the “oh so lovely” curve of her neck... “mmmmh”.

Suddenly, there were those eyes again focused on his, but this time he didn't slip his gaze away. The energy seemed to come in waves! One . . . Two . . . Three seconds went by enduring this sustained contact. It was incredible!

Her expression really did not change as she coolly continued in conversation. And her friends took no notice of the visiting pair of eyes from across the room, as she turned her eyes again toward them. She had passed the openness test.

Moments later, the lady rose from her chair and walked away from her table toward Stan. As she approached and passed behind him, he very purposefully failed to “notice”. "Is she coming to me?" Stan wondered to himself, "where is she going?".

Stan sipped his beer lightly, then turned to find her. "ah, telephone call", Stan sighed to himself.

She stood there in the dark hallway, spotlighted by the little lamp above the phone. She looked like a dancer… leaning there… her shoulder against the wall… her right knee, bended slightly… slowly swinging from side to side.

Stan let his chair swivel out slightly as he surveyed her assets. They watched each other.

When the call was ended, Stan turned his chair, just a little more, to open himself to her. She smiled as she approached.

"Hi, I'm Stan", he said, offering his hand. She took his hand and held it warmly.

"I'm Lori", she breathed softly.

"You have very warm hands", he told her as he scanned her face at close range, "and you seem very nice".

"You seem very nice too", she said returning his gaze.

The moment was electric…

Stan looked down at their clasped hands, then lifted them together, as if to show them to her.

"Well, I guess I should… let you go now", he said with a grin. "I know you're with some friends over there", he added, tilting his head in their direction.

"Well, it was very nice meeting you", Lori cooed, as Stan let her hand slide from his.

"Yes, it was very nice meeting you too", stan replied, "thanks for talking with me". She smiled again as she turned to walk away.

Stan swiveled his chair back, to face the bar, then shifted somewhat, to better accommodate the change in the fit of his trousers. "She makes me wet", Stan deadpanned to himself. "What an exciting lady", he exhaled as he reached for
the mug.

Stan drew in a deep breath, then blew it out slowly through his slightly puckered lips. He raised the mug, up to his lips, as he glanced again toward her table. She was looking, smiling... His eyes smiled back at her, as he sucked down more dark draft.

"That lady can have anything she wants."

END
DWS 1/88