Amber Merrick was still the most beautiful woman that Tony Layden had ever known. It was over ten years since they’d been together, but he’d never gotten over her. It was silly, it was vain, it was childish. Amber was a spoiled brat, who had leached off him for the whole two years they had been together. Yet, he did not mind. She was gorgeous, and that made it alright, at the time. He had met her when they worked at the distributor together. She was a customer service representative in the office, and on lunches he would always take his lunch at the same time she did. There was only one reason- not that she was bright, funny, nor a good person. No, she was simply the most gorgeous woman he’d ever laid his eyes upon. She was a blond bombshell- but not in that slutty Pamela Anderson, Anna Nicole Smith sort of way. She was classy- dressing in elegant, but sexy outfits. He loved it when she wore miniskirts. Every day her wardrobe was one of the joys of his life. What would she wear? What part of her body would it highlight? Her legs were inhumanly perfect- not too muscular, no flab, but absolute mathematical perfection.

There was something about female legs that got to Tony. Yeah, tits were fine- but there was something a little too Oedipal about them, especially big tits. As for ass- too close to the pudenda, therefore too blatantly sexual. But legs, legs were pure mathematics- beauty alone by itself, and Amber’s legs were a marvel of the universe. They were long- she was 5’8”, and they held his gaze. Her ass, despite his protestations, was also marvelous- not big, not super-small, just perfect, taut. Its curve was etched into his mind. He once tried an experiment, bouncing a quarter off her ass from six inches height. When she held her buns tight it would bounce back almost two inches. Utterly amazing! As were her tits- luscious, firm, not too large, nor small. Perfectly proportioned to her spectacular body. Her face, well, that was something of a mathematical jackpot, as well, and crested off with her light blond shoulder-length hair. My, oh my. She could be the biggest bitch in the world and he’d still take it. And he did, for a while.

But, something happens in all relationships men are involved in- even with a goddess. With enough time and familiarity even a goddess dulls to being, well, just Amber. Yes, he loved it when they went out to a fancy place, and she dressed to the nines, and all the other men would need to drag their jaws along the carpet as Amber passed, or more properly, strutted, and their eyes would sheen over with envy as they looked at him as if he was King Midas with a golden-plated consort, or something like that. But, then, the night would end, and Amber would return to wanting her ass kissed at every instant, and even though it was still a spectacular ass, a marvel of genetic fortune, it was an ass he knew too well, and he’d heard shit emerge from it and drop into a toilet bowl, and somehow, it was the skillful use of this sort of imagery that Tony used to wean himself from his addiction to Amber’s awesome beauty, and live a more normal life.

Of course, this was all in the future as he made his move one afternoon in the break room. To his surprise Amber agreed to go out with him, and on their first date he plied her with drinks, got her laughing, and she repaid her debt to him by boldly stripping naked, down to her light blue high heels, and asking him to worship her nudity. He did. He could not be Tony Layden and resist her generous offer. That would mean that there was something inherently wrong with the cosmos. Tony Layden was born to worship Amber Merrick that night, and make love to her, feel himself inside her sheath of perfection. And he did. Then, came the rest of his life.

He was now driving a truck for the distributor, and Amber Merrick was long in the past, of both him and the company. After they broke up, Amber dated a few other guys at the company, including one of the asshole VPs, before quitting about a year later when his wife caught the two of them in bed. Whatever became of her he never knew. For all he knew she was dead, a nun working the slums of Calcutta, or a crack ho in downtown Houston. Occasionally he would Google her name, but little of consequence ever came up, and nothing of particular relating to his Amber Merrick. Even looking at the online images did no good. It seemed that if he were to ever encounter her again it would be out of sheer fortuity. Over the years he had Googled other friends and girlfriends, relatives and co-workers, from various periods of his life. Few ever turned up, and the handful that did were mentioned rather pathetically, in local newspaper stories, from whose details he could divine that the person written of was that person he once knew. Or they would leave silly or asinine comments on blogs, or chatrooms, that he knew were stupidities that he had heard them utter before.

It was as if his whole past were made up. That being the case, he could change his life story at will and who could argue? Ted Reynolds? Stan Matte? Cinda Bloch? Would they even remember him? Had they ever Googled his name? Had Amber? He could make himself a hero, rather than just being the guy in the photo who usually stood three people away from the hero types.

These thoughts plagued his mind this afternoon, one no different from hundreds of others he had lived through over the years, as he drove his company truck toward Trumbo, Texas. It was a sleepy little town, with nothing much doing. His weekly deliveries were, in fact, an awaited thing by some in Trumbo. This gave him a small sense of purpose- a thing he’d been seeking since his status as goddess worshipper to Amber had faded. He recalled Amber had once mentioned she’d dated some guy who was born in that town. What the hell was his name? He remembered that at one time he knew it and had even, in his mind, held sort of a sexual Olympiad against his ex-lover’s ex-lover. Dick size, stamina, looks, wit, intellect. What the hell was that guy’s name? Regardless, he did recall that he always bested his rival, in his games. Just one more bit of trivia for the fire. About twelve miles outside of town he saw a young Mexican kid (twenty or so) hitchhiking. As thunderheads were looming ahead he decided to violate company policy and give the kid a lift. He stopped, motioned the kid into the cab, and asked where he was headed.

‘Dalton.’, said the kid, ‘Hey thanks for picking me up. I’d be shit out of luck if I was here when a flash flood hit.’

‘No problem, I’ve got a delivery in Dalton later today. But I gotta stop in Trumbo first, ok?’

‘Sure, thanks. Say, is this one of those new automatic transmissions? I heard that most smaller trucks like this are going over to automatic- some sort of state regulation.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. In fact, this is one of those trucks that can also run on electricity when the gas gets lower- it’s got one of them solar plates up top. I’ve only been driving it for three weeks but it handles real well. I guess, though, that being a solar or electric vehicle has little to do with the way it handles. The company was able to buy it ‘cause of a tax write-off. Anyway, settle in, kid. Say, my name’s Tony, what’s yours?’

‘Diego,’ said the kid, who lit up a cigaret.

‘Nice to meet you, Diego. Kind of a nasty day shaping up.’

‘Yeah, I’m glad you came along.’, he said, glad that he wasn’t being lectured to over his smoking, ‘I’d be soaked by the time I hoofed it to Dalton.’

‘So, you goin’ cross-country, or what?’

‘Nah, just takin’ a week or so to have some adventures. Hey, is that your wife?’

Diego was pointing to an old photo of Amber he had taped to the passenger side visor.

‘No,’ said Tony, ‘that’s just an old girlfriend.’

‘No way. You shittin’ me? She looks like a fuckin’ movie star. Like she could’ve been on Baywatch, or something. Damn, you were one lucky guy. Why’d you ever let her get away?’

‘Yeah, she was, and probably still is, gorgeous. But looks ain’t everything. That’s pretty much all I gotta say as to why she’s an ex.’

‘Yeah, I know. I had a real pretty girlfriend last year. Sally Hernandez, she wasn’t as pretty as your babe, but still….mighty fine, y’know? But a real bitch.’ said Diego.

‘Well, Amber wasn’t a bitch, but she thought the world owed her everything. And, well, for a long while I justified that belief by kissing her ass on everything.’

‘Mmmm….yeah, that never works. No matter how fine their ass is it’s still just an ass. My Papi used to say, ‘Even a movie star’s shit still stinks.’, and he was a big Marilyn Monroe fan. But, he said that whenever a mamasita would try to lead him along by his cock he’d just picture them on a toilet bowl, taking a shit. He could smell the stink, and that would give him the balls to stand up to the babe. I never got why he had to go to such lengths, but that was what worked for him, I guess.’

‘Funny, I was just thinking something like that before I stopped for you. Almost the exact same thing. Hmm….me and your papa. I guess what they say about great minds thinking the same thoughts is true.’

‘Great minds.’

‘I guess. yeah, that would explain it.’

‘So, how did it end between youse two? Don’t tell me, but she was fuckin’ your brother, or your best pal?’

‘Oh, the usual. No, I didn’t catch her fuckin’ around on me, it was just all about Amber, 24/7. We just sort of slowly saw less and less of each other until one day she told me that she was seeing someone else. It was nearly three weeks since I’d last called her and I wasn’t mad, or anything. Besides, I had met this girl that my brother’s girlfriend had said was available. She was a much better person, far nicer, and quite pretty herself. The sort of a girl you could see settlin’ down with- ’

‘But she was no Amber.’

‘Yeah. Despite all the bullshit I’ve never found a woman that even comes close to measuring up to Amber- in bed or in looks. I know that sounds shallow, but- FUCK IT! I ain’t Albert Einstein. What the fuck do I need some genius chick? I just want good genes- DNA. Y’know?’

‘Otherwise that marryin’ chick would be the one taped onto your visor. Yeah, man, I know what it’s like. You think you’re over someone, and maybe even months or years go by and you think what you could’ve done differently. You look for all the littlest signs, the littlest comment or look. Then you imagine what it could be, then rerun things in your mind- like a tv show. Only you’re the, whaddya call it?- the editor, and you can now edit things to come out better, or restage shit so that- yeah, or like, um, like, you wish you could get rewrite. Say to the author of the play or book, ‘Damn, Sly, you gotta put this shit right. This ain’t a movie, Jack. This is my life. Dig?’ And you think all this bullshit, even if you never really wanted something long term to begin with.’

‘Yeah,’ said Tony, ‘but then your mind plays tricks on you. You think you see her everywhere. You dream of her- not sexually. She’s just in your dreams, and you’re doing things with her. Stupid, trivial things, and when you wake she fades too slowly. I mean, maybe you’re dreaming of some place where you went with your family, or you think of that little fucker you hated when you was a kid, that little shit who used to have everything handed to him, and still complained. And there she is, in the background- maybe she’s a nature guide at the Grand Canyon, or the girl who sided with the spoiled brat over you, even though she was miles away and years from being met when all this stuff happened in real life. Then, when you dream shit like that you think that it’s a signal that she was a soulmate, or something really special, not because you ever really connected that deeply, but there has to be an explanation for why she sticks in your mind. Is it the fact that if you close your eyes, you could still pick out her body’s blackened outline from a thousand other women? Or is it all just that you happened to luck out with a woman who lucked out herself in the genetic lottery, who- for some unexplainable reason- tolerated you briefly in her glorious, but utterly futile run to nothingness?’

‘That’s the way it was between me and Laney. But, even when you meet someone new, someone better, there’s always that what if? I just think that’s natural- it’s like evolution, or something. Or bodies, or minds- no the soul….it’s the soul that makes us think that there’s only one person that could possibly be for us, and whoever makes that first biggest impact is who we stupidly think had to be ‘it’ for us- now and for all time. That’s why wedding ceremonies have all that poetic bullshit that most people are clueless as to why it’s being said. That ain’t for me. I live my life aware. I ain’t one of those zombies that smile with no real reason at all. But, that’s all bullshit because if you think about it, logically, there will be a lot of people you share things in common with- not only physical attraction, but other stuff, deeper stuff. There could be several hundred people who are right for you, but that damn soul tells you no. If they could only do an appendectomy for the soul more people would be happy. At least that’s what my twenty-two years on this pile of dirt have taught me. Hey, I like that. I sound like some philosopher cat, or some shit. Like my Papi was into that stuff- George Santayana, and Edgar Cayce.’

‘I agree. It’s just a matter of meeting that right person at the right time, for both of you. Say that any girl you go out with has a one in twenty chance of being someone you could spend your life with- due to their qualities. Now, for it to work out for a lifetime, you have to be that one in twenty for her, as well. So, doing the math of one twentieth times one twentieth that means there’s a one in four hundred chance that you’ll both be the right person for each other.’

‘Yeah,’ said Diego, ‘but you also have to be in the right place yourself- not rebounding, or grieving, and so does she. So that one in four hundred might be another ten or twenty times as hard. So, like it’s a- um, lemme see….uh, one in four thousand, or eight thousand. I mean, you could fuck a different chick every night for like, over twenty years, and still crap out, cuz the one babe that was the right one for you at the right time you done fucked like three years too late, or a year early. It’s brutal, brother. There was this girl named Bess I dated a while back. We had everything in common, and I grew to love her, but she was still hurt, feeling betrayed and abandoned by a boyfriend of hers who dumped her to join the army and go to Iraq after 9/11. I mean, you’d think she’d be easy to move in on, paint my moves on the inside corner, and all that shit, but, damn! It was totally impossible. Although he dumped her he was some sort of superhero to her, or a fuckin’ god. I couldn’t compete. I’m just a regular guy. Cute, but regular cute. Not that I’m lookin’ for compliments, and don’t get no ideas. So, we just stayed ‘friends’. Then, when he got killed, well. I pity the poor guy she eventually ends up marrying, ‘cause Mr. John Wayne will always be her one, true love.’

‘This is true. It’s always something.’

‘So, was Amber Miss Right at the Wrong Time, or Miss Wrong at the Right Time?’

‘Neither. The more I look back on things the more I realize that the only reason I was attracted to her, and still am, is because, well….as you can see, she was one of the most physically perfect specimens of female kind that ever walked on this earth. I’m sad to say I was just a low down lust-filled pig who sold his soul for a couple hundred fucks of perfection.’

Diego laughed, ‘That’s a bad thing? I’d take just one time with her. Damn, she was hot!’

As the two laughed and talked they headed toward the only stoplight in the town of Trumbo. It was green, just turning yellow, as Tony’s truck flew through it, but he was so engrossed in boisterous commiserating with his passenger that he totally shut out the rest of the world, and did not notice that a fire engine was wailing to cross on the road that cut across his. Or, was the real reason that, across the intersection, he saw a stunning blond, and needed to cross over, before he could blink her away? Was it Amber? No. Yes? No. He would never know, as he saw her diminish in his rearview mirror, and heard a siren wailing up behind him. While all the other vehicles had deferred to the fire truck Tony had not, and soon he was pulled over by a state trooper on a motorcycle.

He thought he was being written up for crossing during a yellow light, or something, and then thought it was some kind of a sign, because yellow lights are also called amber lights, but he was surprised to find out that he had nearly been hit by the fire truck. Huh? Diego had not noticed it, either, and had long ago learnt to shut up in the presence of cops. In his four years driving for the company he had never gotten a ticket before. He’d get a speaking to, but no harm, no foul. As the state trooper warned him to be more careful and pulled away, Tony started the truck, again, and took off. It was a few more miles till Dalton, where he’d drop Diego off. He turned down the passenger side visor so he’d not have to look at Amber anymore. She was still too much, but he could never get rid of her. Diego smiled at him, and laughed. They both knew what had really happened, and they both knew that the ticket was really hers. Still, this did not make the time pass any more quickly, nor make what he thought he saw in the mirror any the less oppressive, even as its linger thrilled him, and made his left eye check it until a mile or two had gone by and he was well past that intersection.