First Date by Carver Welsh

First Date by Carver Welsh

Portland was typically a dreary, rainy place. Today was no different; The rain gently hummed against the roofs, bits of the sun peeking out from between the clouds. A young couple walked laughing. An old man sweeping the walk in front of the store across the street jealousy watched them passing, yearning for what never was. A baby balled as her mother pushed the stroller, the mom smiled at the couple, nostalgia in her eyes. “Have a beautiful day,” the mom said to the couple.

The girl turned to her and replied, “Oh, you too,” and immediately turned her attention back to the young man walking with her.

The man had a youthful round face, though his hair was speckled gray. He wore a teal polo with Oakley sunglasses tucked into the placket of his shirt. His tan gleamed in contrast to the day, ending suddenly, like a car crash, at his collar. He wore khaki pants that still had the long crease along the leg, and his shoes would have been better at home on a boat than the rain-slicked streets. The pockets of his coat swung like pendulums.

The street was lined with an eclectic jumble of old and new storefronts, squeezed between taller, glossy new buildings from the ‘80s. The breeze blew the smell of coffee from many locations, and the earthy scent of dirt, all mingled with the acidic smell of stale urine from the rain-soaked pavement.

“Let’s stop at that bookstore,” the young man said pointing to a tiny shop with weathered brown shingles nailed carelessly to the walls. The shop’s sign had faded far beyond being able to read it from even the minimal distance the couple stood, but the stacked books blocking the windows gave away its likely purpose.

“Sure, why not?” his companion answered. The girl had long, inky hair that framed an innocent face. Her wide, dark eyes had a hungry glimmer, as if she hadn’t eaten for some time. An all too sweet smile played on her lips as she spoke, the kind of smirk that suggested she was enjoying a private joke at his expense. Her creamy paper white skin seemed to absorb the gloom of the Portland day. She wore simple clothes, a striped, long-sleeve top that clung to her slight frame, an oversized flannel that clashed with the stripes, but she pulled it off in a rebellious fashion, the sleeves rolled up, both paired with low-waisted jeans that showed the slightest amount of her ever pale midriff. Her Dr. Marten’s high-heeled boots scuffed all over from countless city walks and outdoor adventures splashed carelessly in the puddles.

They rushed across Couch Street as a bicycle whizzed past, its rider draped in a Columbia coat, mohawk plastered against one side of the head. A wave of warmth greeted the couple as they entered the bookstore, wrapping them like a grandmother’s hug. The store even smelled like a grandparent’s home. The couple set about looking through books immediately.

“You two are a pretty couple,” an old man behind the counter remarked. His bald pate a beacon below the fluorescent lights, a thin layer of sweat glistening on it although he was just standing there.

“Thank you,” said the young man. He looked as though talking to the older man made his skin crawl. “Are you the owner?”

“Yep, twenty years I’ve been here,” the old man said while coming around the counter. He leaned against it facing the couple, his hands folded in front of him like he was easing into talking for a while. “Although they’ve tried to run me out of here to make more damn condos. I ain’t selling out, believe you me. They offered me half a million for this place. I’m sixty two, and that’s all they offered me. Maybe if this was twenty years ago I could retire on something like that but now….”

The girl smirked looking through a stack of mystery books that looked well worn. The young man nodded and tried to look very focused on a book about knitting.

“You need to make sure you treat a woman right,” the shop owner continued. The young man smiled pleasantly and tried to look busy looking at some books near the counter, as his hands absentmindedly wandered to his pockets.

The girl glanced up, “Oh yes please educate my partner here.”

The shop owner nodded sagely, his voice thoughtful as if remembering a great fact. “You see, keeping a woman happy is all about giving. It’s not what she gives you, although I’m sure that’s the only thing on your mind at your age, it’s about giving her what she needs, what she craves.”

“We only just met today,” the young man said.

The shop owner’s head went like a bobblehead. “Ah but trust me, I know. I knew as soon as I spotted the woman that became my cousin’s wife. She ate him all up.”

The girl rested her hand on her date’s arm and smiled at the owner. “Thank you,” she said, setting the book she was holding down on a nearby table. “I love your store, but I think I’m going to rescue my date here and get him to give me a bite to eat,” she added with a wink.

They left the store, the warmth of the bookstore quickly running away as they stepped back into the gloom of the day.

“I know a place where we can get something to eat,” the man suggested. The girl shrugged. “We can cut down this alley to save some time. Looks like it might be about to rain heavier,” he said and brushed the tips of his fingers on the outside of his pockets again, reassuringly.

“Sure, let’s do it.”

They turned down a wide alley, dimly lit in relation to the sun. The other end of the alley was brighter, like a light at the end of a train tunnel, and it made the alley seem longer. Their splashing steps echoed ever so slightly in the murky shallow puddles. The smell of sour blend of rain-washed filth masked any pleasant aroma from before.

He let his hand creep toward a pocket, fingers lovingly creasing the cold handle of his knife. His tools—he was so glad to have them with him. The knife was small, but it did its job just right. The zip ties, in his other pocket, rustled lightly on his hand like the stems of flowers. Oh boy did he love to show his dates his tools.

His pace slowed, she got ahead of him just a bit.

He pulled the knife out, its blade twisted and glinting evilly. He liked his prey wounded before he bound them. He lengthened his stride, closing the gap between them. He was getting aroused; it’d been a long time since he was properly aroused.

Suddenly she turned to him, her ever-present smirk on her lips, sweet and hungry. He quickly slipped the knife back into his pocket.

She grabbed his arm and moved ever so slightly toward him; he could feel her warm breath. “You smell nice,” she murmured, her voice low, lower than he thought it should go.

Her grip fastened tighter on his arm, uncomfortable, almost painful. He tried to pull away, but her hand was unwavering. “Hey what the heck are you doing?” he said, well more like mumbled, any thoughts of arousal long gone.

She pulled him closer effortlessly, her lips brushed his ear. “You taste even better,” she whispered in that oddly deep voice. She ran her tongue along his cheek. He could feel the scaly ridges. He shuddered; he wanted to scream but all that came out was a horrible retching gargle. She darted her tongue in and out of her mouth with a smacking slap. She held his head in both hands. He trembled, a warm wetness spreading down his leg into the rainy street.

“Wha-what are you doing?” he stammered.

Her face began to blur, the edge of that damn smile that never left her face stretched wider and wider until it was well past her hers, almost splitting her face in two. Her jaw elongated, and for one irrational moment he expected to see long serrated teeth that would put his toy to shame, but no, there were no long sharp teeth, but rounded yellow cracked molars, rows and rows, like a shark. All looked rotten.

He tried to scream but only that retching gargle came out, filled with the taste of copper and bile. “Please no,” he moaned.

“Oh, oh shhh,” she whispered, her voice a deep croon that rattled in his skull. “There is no point in crying. What’s going to happen will happen.”

“Noooooo!” he finally managed to scream.

Two weeks later, as the rain lightly thrummed against the cobblestones of the Portland road, and people rushed along the Albert neighborhood, a girl, wearing a striped shirt and flannel, her bare midriff a glow of light above the low slung jeans, walked hand in hand with a young blond man. The young man looked forward, a hopeful expression on his face, not fully noticing the crooked half smile that never left her pale lips.

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Carver Welsh 2024