He laughed out ringing and bright and looked at me with an amusement I hadn’t seen in a while. His big wide smile, the same smile he used to give me when I brought him a really cool bug back when I was a little tomboy. He muzzied up my hair, and chuckled, “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”I wanted to keep scowling at him, I mean, he was being a dick: totally patronizing, condescending, just being a complete Brian. But at the same time, my heart was leaping. Cute. He used the word cute. Okay maybe not leaping, maybe flip flopping? I dunno, it was confusing. Angering cause I didn’t want to be cute, I wanted to be more than cute. I really didn’t want to be tiny cute non-threatening lil’ sis. I fumed. Finally I found words, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to run a mile, you’ll see.” Lame, I know, but it felt strong at the time.He just smiled, nodded, and patted me on the shoulder.I got home and stripped out of my school clothes. I wish I had real athletic wear like they have on TV, then I. Both were wearing jeans and tee shirts and were smoking, like just about everyone else in the bar except me.I don't usually like it when strangers talk to me, especially that aggressively, but John was hard to resent. He had that open, big-lovable-puppy quality and knew it - able to be intrusive without offending. A born salesman. He was a big guy, maybe 6'3", and it turned out he played high school football and a couple of years of small college ball, before he realized that he "wasn't good enough". He was on a first-name basis with all three of the girl bartenders and most of the customers within earshot. There was a forty-something businesswoman named Mary on the other side of Sean, and a chain-smoking grandmother next to her. I think her name was Betty.Sean was quieter and closer my size, a little over six feet. He was clearly coat-tailing on John's charm and enjoying it, especially the extra attention we were getting from the bartenders. I recognized Brenda, a brunette in her.
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