Brown eyes. Her eyes were brown.
One day long I had been puzzling and wondering who wrote the little note that the waitress gave to me the night before. "Come! Take bus 35 to A. at 01.27 at the bus stop (end of the alley)." Jerusalem, end of June 1987. X and I had been drinking the whole evening long tequila sunrise. "Salt. Lemon. Tequila. Ad fundum." We were jolly. It was holiday time. The weather was smooth. We laughed a lot. Shared good memories. Telling jokes. Making fun. Talk about the things we wanted to see on the days to come in Israel.
We were a little drunk when we received the little note. Read it. Looked around us. Smiled and laughed. Ordered another drink. The waitress didn't want to tell us who wrote the letter. We decided not to go. We hadn't been flirting or talked to anyone special this evening. It could be a trap. Just take a bus to "nowhere" to do what? Get a life! It could be a trap!
Next evening. I looked at her eyes. Looked at her body. WOW! "So this is the girl who wrote with a girlfriend to us the little note last night?" Why? Why didn't she talk to us before? Why didn't she asked, in person with her girlfriend, the night before what they wanted? Of course I would have liked to get a drink with her. Her girlfriend told me that in Jerusalem it is not "proper" to talk and flirt with strangers or tourist. So be it.
Windows of opportunities. This time there was condensation on the window. The evening before she and her girlfriend had a day off. This evening she and her girlfriend had to work. I never really talked to her. I didn't wait till she finished her shift as I planned. I was too drunk. Next to that we had to move on. In a few hours we would have to catch an early bus. I smiled at her and gave her my golden wrist bracelet I bought some months before in Cairo. (Remember in those days we didn't exchange e-mailadresses, facebook- or twitternames.)
Those brown eyes. I never saw her again. Can't even remember her name. Esther?