Her name is Abigaile. She let's her close friends call her Gabby Abby, myself included if the occasion calls for it. For the most part, I just call her Abigaile because everyone else calls her either Abby, Gaile, or Gabby Abby; Abigaile is mine. But, when she's sleeping like this, her breathing soft and even, I call her my sleeping angel. She looks so serene.
And then, she snores and destroys the illusion. I don't mind. The sound is comforting.
She's been asleep for a few hours now, keeping me in an iron like grip that no one would ever expect from such a small young woman. Huh, young woman. She's only twenty-two years old but, some nights, nights like these when she's made an attempt to stay awake on the off chance that I may show up, she seems so much older. Even in sleep, she looks exhausted.
I know how hard she works too keep herself off welfare and other systems designed to help those in the lower half of middle class. She would rather work ten jobs and never sleep than be on welfare. Her parents had been on welfare, among other things, and she fights like hell to make herself a better person than either of them.
And she is.
She doesn't think so, but I know she is. From what she's told me, she's much better off without them.
Her mother was a heroine junkie in Fort Lauderdale and her father was her pimp. Pimped his wife for money for her junk and then knocked her around for cheating on him. Not a very child friendly environment, I'd say. When my Abigaile was thirteen, she ran away because her father was considering introducing her to the game. She high tailed it to Miami and her first act was to vandalize a patrol car in order to land herself in the system.
It was a pretty smart move for a thirteen year old: commit a crime and end up in a juvenile detention center where your parents couldn't touch you with a ten foot pole. She was released at the age of eighteen and her record has been immaculate ever since.
I am amazed by her.
When we met, it was during one of those rare nights she doesn't do anything but have fun.
Somehow, Eric and Tim convinced me it would be a good idea to go clubbing. At my age, clubbing is never a good idea as it leads to one of two outcomes: going home alone and being reminded of what a lonely life I lead or the occasional one night stand, which are few and far between. I'm middle aged, not dead after all, and I'm no stranger to giving in to baser urges from time to time.
In short, the three of us ended up in Bash. I'm almost positive that Eric is responsible for getting us inside. Now, on top of being the least attractive man in the group, and that's not self pity: I call them like I see them, I was reluctant to enter the lavish SoBe dance club. But what the hell, right. It's good to know your coworkers in an out of work setting, or so I've been told.
In any case, while my two companions were busy making their way to the over crowded dance floor, I took a seat at the main bar. I ordered a scotch, neat.
"You have a beautiful voice," I heard from my right.
I turned to look at the owner of the voice that was surprisingly soft and strong at the same time.
I was surprised to meet the large, milk chocolate eyes that were smiling into mine. Her hair was shaggy and dark, hanging into those hypnotic eyes. She brushed her hair away from those eyes with her finger tips. She had small hands.
"Thank you," I said, slightly confused. I'm always taken off guard when attractive women want to talk with me.
"You're welcome," she said. She was sitting on the stool next to me, right leg crossed over her left, swinging her right foot back and forth. She was wearing a pair of old wash jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a black tank top with David Bowie done in pink glitter across the front.
What struck me the most about her when we met was that she wasn't sickly thin. She was very . . . voluptuous I guess is the word. Curvy maybe. In any case, she was beautiful that night, just like every night.
She took a sip of what looked like a pink martini which could have been anything these days.
"Gabby Abby!" someone shouted from across the room. She turned her head and smiled and waved to a young woman dancing dangerously close to Speed.
"I'm Abigaile," she said and held out her hand to be shaken. I can't remember the last woman that held her hand out like that, with so much confidence.
"Horatio," I heard myself saying. I took her hand in mine and was again surprised at how firmly she grasped mine in her smaller hand.
"Gabby Abby!" the woman yelled, though she was now standing right behind us.
"Dee Dee!" Abigaile shouted right back. She stood and embraced her friend.
"This is Horatio," she said and motioned towards me.
Dee Dee gave me a skeptical look and turned her wondering gaze toward Abilaile.
"Dance with us," she said and took Abigaile's hand.
"Dance with us," Abigaile said to me.
I could only laugh.
"No thanks," I replied, feeling the conversation was at an end. It certainly was nice of the beautiful young woman to tell me I had a nice voice. Now that that was over and done with, I would just sit here and wait for my companions to decide to either leave with or without me.
"I'll dance when they play something I know," Abigaile surprised us both. She sat back down and smiled in apology to her friend.
"Uh-huh," Dee Dee, whom I now know better and find fascinating to talk to, said slowly. She rolled her eyes and regained her place next to Speed on the dance floor.
"So," Abigaile said and took a sip of whatever she was drinking. "What are you?" she asked.
"What am I," I repeated.
"Yeah. I'm a lost cause," she said with a smile. "I don't smoke though," she added and took another drink.
"So what are you?"
I laughed and took a sip of scotch. She certainly didn't waste time.
"I'm . . ." I took a deep breath. "I'm in law enforcement."
"No, that's not what I asked," she smiled and turned in her stool, resting her elbows back on the bar.
"Hmm. I guess I'm . . . inquisitive."
She laughed and shook her head.
"You can just say that you don't know."
I laughed as well.
"I suppose I don't. No one's ever asked me to label myself."
"That you're aware of."
I nodded slowly. "I suppose."
"Don't worry. I'll figure you out."
"You're awake," she whispers against my shoulder.
"I am."
"Have you slept at all?"
I shake my head. "No."
She shifts herself so that she can lean over and place a gentle kiss on my mouth.
"You need to sleep."
I nod. I know I need to sleep. I'm as exhausted as she is.
She kisses me again and rests her head back on my shoulder.
"You're keeping me awake, Superman," she yawns. Her eyes are already closed again, her breathing slows.
She calls me Superman because she thinks I can do anything. I don't know what led her to that assumption. I asked her to stop calling me Superman once. She asked why and I said, "Because I don't want you to be disappointed." She asked why she would be disappointed with that smile she gets when she believes she's right about whatever we're discussing.
"How am I keeping you awake?"
"I can hear you blinking," she jokes. Even when she's half asleep, she can make me laugh.
"Go back to sleep," I say. I can't help but tighten my arms around her. I marvel at the way we hold each other so tightly. Whenever she can put her arms around me, it feels like she'll never let go. She told me once that I make her safe.
"Tell me a story," she whispers.
"About what?" I ask.
"About the handsome prince that falls in love with the fat peasant girl."
"You mean about the frog prince that miraculously ends up with the beautiful princess?"
She gently shoves my shoulder.
"I wish you wouldn't call yourself that."
I laugh. I don't mean it when I say frog prince, but it'll get me a compliment or two; and I know she doesn't mean it when she calls herself fat because she's just . . . so curvy.
"You have the most beautiful blue eyes," she says, true to form.
"And you give the best kisses," I say. She places another kiss on my mouth and I move one hand to rest on her hip.
"Go to sleep," she urges and snuggles closer to me, as if she could get any closer.
She's asleep again in minutes.
I can feel myself beginning to doze as well. The nearness of her, the warmth of her body against mine, her soft breathing against my shoulder are all very soothing. It's not long before I fall asleep, still wondering what she could possibly see in me.