Blood

She kept meeting men born in or around the year 1983. This was coincidence, but like all coincidences, possibly seemed plotted by some higher force, and seemed to have deep significance.

The fact that all of these men were born around the same time was indeed a coincidence, and had no deep significance or divine design. Yet it was driven by her own actions. She was drawn to these people and to the places where they congregated. Yet she met them everywhere. Without knowing it, she was compelled to seek them out.

They were born during the reign of Reagan. She remembered this time period vividly. They were learning to nurse at their mothers' breasts. She was learning to drive. They were learning to recognize their mothers' voices. She was learning to recognize the voice of Madonna.

Maybe she was hungry for a connection to that time in herself, a time when everything seemed possible for her, instead of this time, when options seemed few and the future seemed relatively bleak. Or maybe not.

Maybe these men just seemed beautiful to her (none were truly beautiful). They seemed unmarred by the terror of knowing that their futures were narrow, that the decisions that they had made behind them had sealed their paths with concrete. No, these men fairly burst with optimism. They were eager for the future. They had confidence that, despite the fairly grim news of the time, they would seize something for themselves, find power.

Somehow, in the crowds of people, of men, she could find them, without consciously looking for them (or so she thought). Perhaps she could smell them, like a vampire smells blood.

They seemed to sense her too, and approached her. Everywhere. They picked her out in groups of women. Suddenly, she'd feel a hand on her knee, stroking it. They wanted her for some reason. Even on days or nights when she felt disheveled, they came up to her.

She could feel how hungry they were too, hungry like someone who has not eaten for days. She first thought she felt their enthusiasm, the energy that comes with discovery. That may have been what she felt, or was that energy mixed with a touch of fear, of wariness, of self-protection?

The author Daphne Merkin once wrote that men are repelled by older women: "almost instinctively, because they sense the impending shadow of nongenerativity like a negative pheromone."

Was there a pheromone at work here? Or were her own actions, her desires, her tastes and her defiance, propelling her toward these men?

She knew she could outwit them, at least at first. She knew their weaknesses and what made them burn, and they, at first, were amazed that she had this knowledge. That was just at first. This amazement did burn, but only briefly in most cases.

Quickly, the fire would burn out. They would swiftly move on.

She realized that they were sharks. They moved like sharks in the water. They would course after their own desire for blood, the blood they smelled in the vast ocean, all throughout its expanse. She could see that they knew, instinctively, that the ocean was filled with blood.

They would taste hers, but then, they would sense others', and move on.

However, from them, she drew a bit of blood back into herself. She drew some of that optimism that coursed through their veins. She drew some of their energy, their hunger. She took all of this with her. She moved forward too, at last.