>You were there, helping me with my car as the other mechanics were >finishing it up. You handed me my keys, and for the first time ever, I felt >like taking off my wedding ring.
>I left to get in my car, and I thought it was making bad sounds.
>You and I went on a drive around the block, and I asked you
>"What would happen if you were driving down the highway at 70 mph >and then put it in reverse?"
>You tried to be serious, but I finally made you laugh. And possibly >blush.
>I wanted to make you pull over the car so we could make out in a >parking lot like high school idiots.
>You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. And you smelled >fantastic.
>Let's grab dinner.
I'm not your missed connection. But I thought about you all day that day. The way you looked so vulnerable with the car window down, your hair whipping around your face as he drove you away from the rest of us.
The second you were gone, after he'd gotten out of your car and you drove off, he said things about you. He said things about you that made you seem like a whore. The short skirt you were wearing, the way you kept holding your hand in the other so that we couldn't see your ring--he said it all meant he could have had you.
But I know better. I know that you are just damaged. That someone has hurt you, that you see a better life, happiness in every other face on the street. I know that when you lie awake at night, you wonder what's wrong with you, what you should change.
I think that's what I liked about you. It wasn't those legs, that smile, the fact that you drove an import. It was that you were searching. It was that you were so insecure, and so afraid we would discover it. It was that you're alive, in a way that alot of us aren't. It made you more beautiful than any thousand-dollar outfit, any spray-on tan ever could.
Maybe tonight, when you're lying next to whoever hurt you this time, you'll think of me, in my shirt with my name on it, admiring you quietly from beside the dodge that was up on the lift. Maybe you'll remember that small wave you gave me, before you saw even more happiness in his face. Maybe you'll come back and you'll let me ride along, and maybe I'll do what he couldn't. Maybe I'll be able to figure out what that vague, ominous sound means. Maybe you'll let me fix it.
-Sincerely,
The (other) Observative Mechanic
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