Brief Encounter with Anonymity

by Alana Wilson

She stopped for a bite to eat in a neighboring town, nobody here knew her story: wife, mother, member of the PTA and the Library Council. On any given day, her chores kept her from frequenting restaurants in the afternoon; she’d heat up a bowl of leftovers from last night’s supper and eat it between loads of laundry, loads of dishes or loads of garbage being taken out to the receptacle on the curb. Today she was a single woman, seated at the counter, trying not to hide behind the pages of a newspaper. She spoke briefly with the waitress about the coffee and while she was watching the waitress walk away from her, a man sat down beside her -- not just any man, he was straight from the pages of People or US, he had flawless skin, toned body, dark hair and green eyes; in her daughter’s terms, this guy was “hot;” instantly she could feel the heat from his body warming the entire length of her right side. She wanted to smile at him, start a conversation, look into his eyes and hold the gaze a second too long, she wanted to touch him and feel the heat of his skin, she wanted to be wrapped in his arms; she pictured herself taking a ride in his truck, sitting next to him, keeping his warmth close, smelling his manness, and risking her reputation for night of passion. She sat uncomfortably for a minute before she told the waitress to make the order "to-go;” who was she kidding, she had to get home; her kids were due off the bus soon.

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Alana Wilson, in a crowd of authors, would be the one on her knees in reverence to all of the talent. Last year, she won an "honorable mention" in her college's writing contest. She is the author of Plain Jane.