“…And this is Magdalena,” the object of, well, not my heart’s desire, but definitely the desire of something anatomical and inconveniently located offered a passel of other names for the girl she was introducing.  The names passed by me like so much exposition, and I smiled in vague attention, my focus on Binah, and her slightly exotic accent.  I passed one of the drinks I had just purchased over to her, on general principles.

“We’ve passed each other on campus,” Magdalena said, her voice perfectly modulated over the music and sound of the crowd.  She knocked back the shot and then extended her hand to me.  “Magda.  My mother’s side of the family adds the baggage, but since she also gave me the good looks, I tolerate it.”  I shook her hand on automatic, and took a moment to stop watching and listening to Binah as soon as our palms connected.  There was something…

She was fairly tall, but more importantly, most of it was leg.  She had on a pair of cargo shorts that showed them off, and a white tank top with a handful of gold necklaces that were a lot more subtle than anything that phrase should suggest of the 1970s.  Her hair was pressed back with some kind of ancient secret hair care product of which straight men are not meant to know.  She repressed a smile.

“A fellow artist,” she said, her other hand curling around mine.

I started to protest, as stick figures were high concept to me,  but then she wrote a symbol of light in the air between us.  I looked around, but she had been extremely, well, crafty, unlike my guilty glance.  She smiled, and I liked her lips.

“How do you know Binah?” I asked, blandly.

“Isn’t that my line?” she asked, releasing my hand with a certain grace.  “Honors Program, of course.  I’m looking to move to a Psychology degree, not convinced that this is the college to do it at,” she shrugged.   “And you?”

“Officially this is our first date,” I laughed.

“And you took her here?” she referred to the flashing lights and loud music.

“Her favourite local band,” I defended myself.

“What do you think?”

“Can’t stand them,” I shouted back, and Binah bumped back into me from talking to the other people she’d introduced me to, and I had just as quickly forgotten.

“What was that?” she yelled.

“Still trying to appreciate the music,” I yelled back at her.  Actually, to be honest, I didn’t think there was any music.  No melody, lots of screaming that had gotten louder in the last few minutes, and I was far away from the literal crush of people up near the front of the stage.  It was probably an acquired taste.

“It’s great, isn’t it?  They had an opportunity to get one of their songs on the radio,” she just about blasted my ear drums at that point, “but they stuck with their principles!  They’ll never sell out!”

“Great!” I responded, although I guess the ethics of the matter confused me because it sounded pretty idiotic, all things considered.  Still, Binah was bopping to what I guessed was the beat, and it was fabulous to watch all the movement under her black t-shirt.  Her smile was a flash of white against the darkness of her skin, and I had to expend effort to hold back the images that brought to mind.

“Should we move up?” she asked at a volume that may have been discernible from a passing jet, yet still something I had to strain to hear from back here near the bar.

“Do you want to?” it would be suicide, my leather jacket being poor protection against that much in the way of muscle and metal spikes.  Still, a slow death being ground (literally) against Binah had potential compensation.

“I asked him to stay back with me,” Magda said, in a conversational tone.  Binah and I had no troubles hearing it.

“You moving in on my man?” Binah asked, without blinking, but still quite loudly.

“I’m using him as an umbrella,” Magda said back.

“Oh.”  I thought it sounded as confused as I felt, but it seemed to be fine with Binah.  “I think I see Dezi down in the front.  I’m going in after her,” she said.  She gave me a quick, almost professional kiss on the cheek, and then jumped into the fray, quite literally.  On both counts – the jumping, and the fighting.

“I wanted to talk to you some more,” Magda explained.

“I kind of guessed.  I’m not a…” I waved my hand in some lame gesture of Hollywood wizardry.

“But you knew what I meant.”

“I’m also not an idiot,” I can actually say that in sign language, but the ironic thing is, I wouldn’t understand the response, provided it wasn’t obviously vulgar.

“Are you preter or super?”

“What?” I tried to make it sound more indignant than confused.  I might have managed it.

“Or are you natural, meaning human?”

“Oh!  No, I’m not anything, um, I’m human.”  I figured “anything crazy” sounded kind of racist.

“So what do you do?”

“One trick pony, and this isn’t the sideshow, sister,” I said, finally, normal voice and frustration leaking out like any just-about-to-be-a-dropout slightly post-adolescent male.

“Isn’t it?” she smiled.  She gestured around us.

“Huh.”  I grunted.  “Bitter, much?”

“It’s the name, mister.  I’m a myrhhbearer.  Bitter and used for gifts and funerals.”

“Is that like a ringbearer?”

“There were more Disciples than Ringwraiths.”

“I never saw Sauron’s resurrection as particularly biblical.”

I didn’t remember walking out of the bar and down the road.  Bye, Binah.  Bye visions of her writhing over me, on top of me, pretty much wherever she wanted.  I was hooked on Magda, who while still pleasing to the eye was far more intriguing to me, maybe even despite the attitude.

“What about Gandalf’s?”

“I read Narnia just thinking that Aslan was one heck of a neat lion,” I had to admit.  “And the voyage of the Dawn Treader I somehow have mixed up with Darwin and the finches.”

“Stars and angels.  Whether it is a wrinkle for our time or maybe even just a Babylon 5 reference,” she sighed.  “Where do you stand?”

“I like to think I’m on the side of the angels,” I decided.

“Well, yeah, but have the ones around us fallen?” she asked, cynically.

I remember kissing her, then.  Her mouth was sweet, the taste of her breath somewhat bitter.

“Have hope,” I told her.

“Oh, I do,” she smiled, and I decided I liked what her smile did to her face.  “I do.”