Her name was Starla, and her name was Maggie. Starla/Maggie. She had an apartment downtown, and she said she never brought her work home, except for me because I was just a kid. I didn’t have a place to take her to. She said she shouldn’t have taken the job. I said I know. She asked if I drank. I said I’m Irish. She said she didn’t have whiskey or beer, was gin okay. I said sure. Because I’d never had it. I said I’m gay, and I don’t want to sleep with you. And she said I know and called me honey. She asked if I knew any card games. I knew how to play poker, and I told her so. She said shouldn’t that be pokim? I didn’t laugh, but I smiled and she refilled my jelly glass. Bombay sapphire she said. It’s good, isn’t it she asked? I said it was okay, because it made my head swim and I felt a little sick.
The prompt for this was just, "Write about someone significant." I wrote about the woman my father took me to when I was sixteen and he caught me with another guy. This was his attempt to fix me. She was very nice though. Sometimes I wonder what she's doing now. I never saw her again after I left her apartment early the next morning.