The Transforming Candle
I sit alone. Taking a sip of the amber liquid and I let the fire linger on my tongue. The warmth fills me and I swirl what is left in the tumbler, watching whiskey cling to the sides. The candle flame catches my eye and I watch in a hypnotic trance as it flickers casting moving shadows across the darken tavern.
It stands alone and silent on the table in front of me. The faint smell of evergreens reaches my nose melding with the pleasant aroma lingering from my whiskey. I stare at the column of wax with its flame dancing in the slight breeze. Whether it is some sort of magical dust or the second Jameson I just had, the candle started to change form. I sit frozen, unable to do anything but watch as wax shifts and reshapes into a woman.
She isn’t tall, not even reaching five feet but her presence is bold and thick as her previous form. Hair short and choppy mottles around her face like strands of cord. Our eyes meet and I hold her forest green eyes. In between the depths there is a fire, a spark which reminds me of a slow burn ready to flare at any moment.
I nod to her, she does so in return. A man at the bar calls out, grabbing her attention from me. She laughs, hearty and throaty which I may add, is amazing since she has no neck. Her head sits on broad shoulders, there is nothing in between.
“Did you bring it?” the man sitting on the stool says to the woman.
“Yes, but it wasn’t easy for me to get it,” the woman replies.
I lean closer to listen. I know that it’s not the polite thing to do but I can’t help myself. What does the woman have? Why does the man want it?
She sits on a barstool and I can see her profile. The slow smoldering smile on her lips is what I expect. She is going to make the man work for it. I just know it.
“Buy me lunch and we can discuss terms. I’m hungry and want a hamburger and fries. A beer too.”
The woman polishes off her meal then reaches into her pocketbook for the mystery item. My phone lights up with a text from my friend to let me know she is outside. I guess I’ll never find out what the woman holds in her hand. I get up, leave a few bucks on the table for a tip and take a last look at the woman who only fifteen minutes ago was a candle. The door closes behind me and another of life’s mysteries will remain a secret.