Hit and Run

"I could poison you." A short drag on her cigarette and a sharp exhalation producing a plume of smoke that was quickly carried away by the evening breeze.
"I could poison you and no one would be able to tell that I did it. That's what I do"
"You wouldn't be related to the Borgia's would you?"
"Who?"
"Never mind." I took an understandably cautious sip from the drink in front of me and asked her, "Why would you want to? "
"I didn't say I wanted to, I said I could." and she laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh. It felt forced and high in her throat; more like a cough than chuckle and it didn't match her face.
A face that I was quite enthralled with at the moment. Oval shaped and olive skinned, a nose that drew you towards a magnificent pair of eyes which glittered with light captured from the neon signs that hung above our heads. Her ears were a little too prominent, but she hid them behind long lustrous hair.
"I work in a research lab and spend my days analyzing various poisonous substances, many which are quite untraceable." Another quick drag, "As a joke I once put something into a punchbowl at a party that made everyone's urine turn pink."
I looked down at my half finished gin and tonic and asked, "Do I have anything to worry about here?"
"No, not from me." And with a final puff of her cigarette she stubbed it out in the already overflowing ashtray. "I'm not going to poison you, but you should know that I am poison."
"So why did you agree to meet me?" I tried to mix a tone of annoyance and confusion in my voice, but all that came out was a shrill question, a little louder than I had expected.
"I wanted to explain to you why you won't be seeing me again," "There ..."and she lit another smoke as she continued. "...is somebody else who you couldn't possibly compete with; and I wouldn't want you to try."
And then her story began. She told me of a night that was more destructive than any of the materials she handled everyday.
She and her fiancee were celebrating. He had finally proposed in a little neighborhood restaurant that they had frequented every week or so since they had met, and she had accepted . It was a night of happiness. A night where the dreams of two simple people collided and instead of confusion there was happiness. The kind of happiness that makes one think of the future and believe that it all belonged to you.
There are so very few times in life when you know that every move you make is going to turn into a golden moment. That's how they felt. That's the warmth and comfort they were wrapped up in as they paid their bill. That's the shiver of excitement she felt as she looked at the diamond on her finger. That's the elation she felt as they waltzed out into the street just barely feeling the pavement under their feet.
The magic of the moment must have overtaken him because he made the one mistake that no one can ever make if you live in New York. While looking at the face of the woman he loved, the very same face that was sitting across from me and telling this story, he stepped backwards into the street between a car and a van and into the path of a yellow cab.
He was hit so hard that the shoes he was wearing marked the exact point of contact yet his body was thrown far, far from the spot and he rolled and bounced another couple of feet after he landed.
The cab stopped for a moment. A moment of indescion and consequence must have run through the driver's brain because the brake lights flared bright released and flared again. Then as she stood there looking at the place where her fiancee once stood she heard the squealing tires of the taxi as it sped away, never to be seen again. An incident all too common and nevertheless paradoxical.

She crushed the pack of cigarettes and tossed them on the table between us. Lighting the last smoke and getting up from the table and pulling her bag onto her shoulder, she said "There are all kinds of poisons; some just kill you more slowly than others."

Me no never saw her again.