From Russia, With Love

Every day she hung out at the convenience store with her friends after school to buy food and sometimes smoke…and every day, he was there. “He” was Vladimir, the big Russian cashier who had recently immigrated to America. His brown eyes always seemed to burn a hole through hers. He was tall…big and thick….with a military haircut and distinctive, traditionally “Russian” features. His thick Russian accent was sometimes hard to pick up on but she seldom had a hard time understanding him. Sometimes they traded banter, but he came off as a very shy young man.

He stood at six-foot-eight, and so he towered over her four-foot-eleven frame. She was a curvy girl, and not in the sense that she was “fat”. Her waist was small, and her hips were really quite big. Her butt was quite round…like a soft peach, but her breasts were quite small. People told her one of her most distinctive features besides her hourglass figure was her big, round brown eyes which seemed to sparkle and her big, pouty lips. Her long, brown hair was close to reaching the center of her back and at the bottom there were remnants of where she once dyed it blond, a decision she now regretted. Even though she was beautiful, she never saw this.

Every day that she walked into the store with her friends, he was behind the counter and he seemed to observe her as she walked through the store watching her friends buy junk food. He barely spoke a word to her. She figured he was shy about his accent. One day though, when she came alone, he followed her outside as she lit up her cigarette.

“Do you have a light?” he asked in his thick accent.

“What?” she inquired. She could barely understand him.

“I don’t have a lighter. I need a light for my cigarette,” he said slowly.

“Oh, yeah,” she said nonchalantly. He bent down in front of her with his cigarette in his mouth, and she lit it. A few moments of silence passed as the two of them stood there smoking. Finally, he broke the awkward silence.

“What is your name?” She looked over at him, a little surprised by the awkwardness of the ice-breaker he chose to use.

“Well, my name is Renae.”

“Renae, I am Vladimir.”

“I know…it says so on your name tag.” He seemed to retreat inside himself.

“Oh…I am sorry.” She felt bad for embarrassing him and realized perhaps she should have been more tactful, because he was only trying to make conversation. She picked up the conversation again.

“Where are you from, Vladimir?”

“Russia. I have just come here.”

“Do you like America?” He turned to her and his pretty brown eyes pierced hers.

“Oh…yes. I love it. Everything here is so, so beautiful…” He seemed to speak directly to her, and her stomach tied in knots.

“Oh,” she replied. “What do you like about America?”

“Everything. As I said…everything is beautiful here.”

“Well, I suppose this is a beautiful section of New Jersey.”

“Yes it is. I have not seen such beauty in long time.” His voice got softer and his gaze never left her. She looked away from him, not quite sure of how to reply.

“Umm…I think I should be getting home now. My sister is waiting for me.”

“Of course,” he said quietly. She walked, rather quickly, toward her car, and he followed her. Fear began to grow inside her, but as he opened her door for her she began to breathe normally again. She got into the car.

“Bye Vladimir…I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, or something.” His gaze had not yet left her.

“Goodbye, Renae.” She quivered at the way he pronounced her name. Re-nee. The first syllable was so heavy.