true story

I was a cocktail waitress.

He was a Navy SEAL, just returned from Bahrain.

I wasn't wearing panties.

Neither was he.

Platform heels skidding through puddles of booze,

I pushed through the throng of party people.

He followed along after me, staring.

I almost lost my tray. Twice.

He ran a tab.

I had his credit card

but I couldn't remember his last name.

Two months later, it was my last name.

The next weekend, he and his friends were back.

He came up to me and said:

"I don't remember much about last weekend

but I remember you were my waitress

and I was kind of following you around drooling on you

and I hope I didn't offend you."

He offered me his phone number,

written on a cocktail napkin,

already in his hip pocket.

I took it.

Later that night, I saw him standing next to the pool table,

talking to his friend Luke.

I went over to him and leaned up, close to his ear, and said:

"If I had to pick one man

to follow me around this bar and drool on me,

it would definitely be you."

The next weekend, walking toward downtown, I called him.

Voicemail.

Minutes after leaving a message, I saw him.

I told him I was meeting a friend where I worked.

He said he would come find me.

He did.

It was crowded on the basement dance floor.

It was loud.

Maggie was working the beer tub and I was next to her,

standing well above the crowd on the elevated bar.

I saw him come down the stairs.

I saw him see me.

He wove his way through drunken dancers

and stood, looking up at me.

I fell into him.

Like a tree hit by lightning, just toppling on over like boom.

He held me.

He was solid. He was strong. He was beautiful.

So was I.

Still holding me up, arms around me for the first time ever, he said:

"Whoooooa. I think you might be too much woman for me."

He was right.