ATONEMENT! segment A
If there was to be any more she's have to make it up somehow. If she wanted him, if she wanted there to be a them, there would have to be an atonement. It wouldn't be easy, an uphill battle to be sure, but she'd just have to swallow it down if there was to be anything for them in the future.
They had met originally in a bar across from the university one night when he was working. She was a student in her last year in the journalism program, but with a few months to go she was entitled to relax on a Friday night after a test on Integrity, Issues and Ethics. As mentioned he was working, but he in no way worked for the bar. At thirty-four he was a sergeant with the city police and his job was just to blend in and call-in. He circulated around the bar, mingled and used his young features and his general toned, healthy shape to really observe the celebrating crowd of students. As students pealed off to leave he watched them go and, if they appeared inebriated, he'd use his work cell to phone in or text a description to his colleagues outside who waited in cars and on foot at the mouth of the parking garage next door.
When she struck up a conversation with the clean-cut, nicely dressed man he'd already helped net four intoxicated drivers who'd just barely started driving, before they got out into traffic. One of them had been under 21, even.
He was easily 12 years over her age, but she'd guessed the gap to be more like six. At a college with many commuters it wasn't odd to her to find someone a bit over 21 or 22 at the bar right across Warwick Blvd. from campus. Her judgment might have been a little impaired into mistaking his age by so much, but she seemed nice enough for him to issue a friendly off-hand warning, "I sure hope you aren't driving tonight."
She smiled and pointed over her shoulder, "You, know what? It's Okay, 'cause my friends are right over, uh," she turned on the barstool, " ah, right over ... there. You know what? They already left, but it's Okay, 'cause I live just upstairs." She pointed straight up intending to indicate the student apartments overhead. Perhaps she was a little more than impaired, but it was going to be Okay , as she said – no driving.
She was by no means a chunky girl, but through her college years she had failed to lose her "freshman 20" pounds. Fortunately it was evenly distributed and she looked really good. She wore large framed glasses upon a nose that seemed a little big, but mature, and her cheeks, rosy from drink, still bore a little sign of extra weight. She was wearing a dark blue tube top largely held up by an ample bosom that he was estimating to be at least a 36 and on the border between C and D. Nevertheless she had to pull at the top of her top to tuck it securely to her armpits. This tube-top came down flush to the top of a fairly tight tweed gray skirt that came to her knees. When she moved around or turned her midriff exposed itself a bit showing a smooth creamy expanse of skin with a slight cast of yellow. He'd find out later that she was part European – part Korean.
Well, she sure was fun to talk to, but he was at work, and so he had to turn his attention to that from time to time. There were certain patrons, obvious drunks, he had been watching, and when any of them paid their tabs and departed he would turn his attention from her to his phone. Used to talking in code quietly to a walkie-talkie, he could transmit what he was doing – descriptions of the individuals and groups – without being too loud.
At midnight she told him that she had to leave and bid him good night. They exchanged names, she mentioned that most people called her "girly", and she let him know that she was glad he was good to talk to. She hoped to see him again and lingered looking like she had something to say. She opted for only, "Well, good night." Which went with a tug up on her top and a tug down to cover her midriff before putting on her jacket.
"And you're sure you're Okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I just live up here." She did already sound better composed that when she had first sat down.
The rest of his shift went by really quickly; it got busy as the bar cleared out. He didn't have time to really watch all the departures, and so he called in a lot more than he probably needed to. If the persons pulled over weren't drunk then no problem. They'd be on their way. The campus police chipped-in and they made a sturdy clean-up. He packed himself up at 1:45 as the bartenders were calling for official closing and last calls. When he got outside the chill of the air caught him. It took only a second to adjust and as he stepped to go he noticed that the bouncer, who'd stopped admitting new entries at about 1:35 – very by-the-book – had a line of at least 8 individuals trying to gain a last entry. "No really, my ride is in there", "I think I left my keys", "What do you mean it's almost closed?", "Oh, there he is."
This last seemed to be about him. He was a little shocked to see her step towards him from the line still wearing her tube top, skirt, and a wholly inadequate unbuttoned denim jacket. The way she bobbed, shivered and breathed frost told him that really she agreed that it was too cold for what she was wearing.
"I thought maybe I should come and get you to walk me home."