Name Day
I was given a nickname, he was funny,
I liked him.
I was walking out of the Plaza that day.
Seven years my senior.
He was a man, certainly no junior.
Tall and handsome, dark hair and crystal eyes that
Looked me up and down.
I noticed him admiring my thighs.
Sixteen and barley legal
But only if we were in his land with all their regal and royal ways.
He sounded very different from me but with an overwhelming familiarity.
He was bold, he had no shame.
I don’t even think,
He asked for my name.
He just took me by the hand and walked me straight into the Grand. Before I know what was going on, we were dinning and being served wine.
As we started our meal, he noticed the way I approached my veal.
With the knife and fork the right way in hand. But this was only practiced and taught in his homeland.
“No one holds their cutlery like that, not here,” he says in fact.
“Where did you say you were from?”
He asked.
I thought he was fierce with crystal eyes.
“I didn’t,” I said. “You never asked.”
That’s when he asked for my name,
When I gave it, he chuckled and laughed.
Then he said.
“Did I ever wonder if I was
Coming or going?”
And he chuckled and laughed again!
“Your name is a colour, my dear.
We use it to explain the relevance of our traffic lights.
Green means go, red means stop, but
your colour means caution.
It’s uncertain if you’ll continue or not.
No I can’t call you that.”
He says,
“I’ll have to give you a nickname instead.”
I looked at him awkwardly.
I’m not sure I like this game with names. He’s cute, handsome in fact.
But who is this guy, with his weird chuckles and laughs?
I’ll keep quiet for now, since he’s buying the wine.
But if he’s not careful I’ll stand up
And slug him right in the eye.
He could see I was annoyed,
Thinking he’s so clever.
He started to say,
“I promise you really will like your nickname
but first let’s play a game.”
I glared up and raised my brow.
Now I’m thinking one bad word and I will punch this guy out.
“What is it?” I say.
“What game do we have to play?”
“All you have to do is look at my s tattoo and see if you can pronounce my name correctly?”
And that’s when he stretched his jeans to one side, pasted his hips, exposing the top of his thigh.
I looked up with a roll of my eyes.
I pretend to dismiss
His physique and muscular thighs.
I glanced at his colorful tattoo. I
Didn’t want him to know that I cared
or that I might be wondering what he was wearing down there.
I shook the image from my head. Exposing a blush, I went a little red.
I quickly focused
back to the question instead.
“Yoska.” (YŌsh-kǎ) I said with perfect intonation.
His eyes widened, he said.
“How did you know to pronounce it that way? No one has ever got it correct,
not an American anyway.”
“What did I win?”
I said with my own sinister grin.
“Your nickname of course.
It’s yours if you want it.
You can have it forever if you like.”
I’m intrigued but not sure.
I’m almost frightened to ask.
Well alright, it’s just for laughs.
“What is your nickname you have for me?”
And that’s when he took my hand, he looked deep in my eyes with his crystal azures.
He said,
“I think you’re lovely,
Stay with me.
Go on my love, are you bold enough?
do you dare, take a chance, on me?”
I was taken aback by his tenacity.
I was compelled, it was a challenge you see, so I said, “Yes.”
“I knew you would,” he said.
“How did you know?
I almost said no.”
He shook his head with confidence and said,
“Your nickname of course, it suits you my dear. I knew it instantly with only a glace. I knew you’d be compelled to take a chance on me.
Your nickname my love, is Chauncy, you see.”
A year later, and it’s time to hand my nickname down the bloodline.
It was never really mine to begin with.
It was always yours Cherub.
It belongs to you my baby girl.
I was just holding on to it for a while.
Waiting to give it to you,
Upon your March third arrival.