Fools and fool

We walked out to the parking lot together. My face ached and I wondered what I was doing walking side by side with Daniel. Everything was going well tonight. Then I began to remember that the fact that I was here, with this girl and her problems, was all a result of things not being alright. I thought about Rebecca and wondered what she was doing tonight.

Daniel and I talked through the walk. I expressed my regrets about the events of that evening and he waved them off. “As long as you didn’t dick her.” Were his exact words. He told me some things about himself, which I didn’t listen to, and I told him a bit about myself.

“This is me.” Daniel said. It was surreal that he was so amicable. Like we’d met at a bar and had become fast drinking friends. I wondered if I had met him in a different life if we could have been enemies. He watched me over the roof of his tiny car. Those eyes of his were still gauging me. Maybe we were enemies and I wasn’t realizing it.

I rubbed my cheek and waved to him. This caused him to grin foolishly. I turned and began walking toward my own car when he shouted, “Take care of your girl Sidney.” While it sounded concerned it had the veil of a threat cast over it. Could he really be intending to visit a similar evening on me?

He ducked into his car and started it. Within moments he was weaving out of the lot. I watched the cherry lights disappear behind a crop of trees and stood for a moment longer wondering if I was a foolish person. I shook myself of the feeling and continued to my car.

Fumbling the keys and still rubbing the ache in my face I heard the sound of someone calling my name. “Please God no.” I begged. The call came again, closer, more insistent. I turned and concluded that I was a fool like no other.

Seattle jogged up to me, her auburn hair bouncing, not to mention a great deal of commotion beneath her shirt. “Please don’t leave like this.” She said though her panting.

“Like what?” I asked. Having been knocked to the deck by someone half my weight? Having to suffer his kindness after being a party to betrayal? Realizing that I’m only continuing to complicate my situation?

“Without letting me explain.” She said. Being the fool I was, I waited to hear it.

*****

Short one tonight.

Shiners and sentiments

               She opened the door slowly, a bit too dramatically. I expected a hulking behemoth to step through, his head bent to the side and still scraping the top of the door. Instead I was greeted by a slender man. He wore a flannel shirt and heavy jeans that made me think of a lumberjack. I had imagined Paul Bunyan coming in. I got his sickly cousin instead.

               “What’s going on?” He asked. His voice was far deeper and harsher than his bent rail frame would indicate.

               Seattle fixed him with her best leer and asked, “What are you doing here?”

               The man slash boy ignored her and studied me. He went as far as uncurling his back as he sized me up. I felt truly awkward being a third party to whatever this event was.

               Seattle watched him, he watched me and I wished I could find a way out. I had foolishly thought that things would be simpler if I stepped out of my life for a second and into someone else’s. Sadly it was the same insanity, different crazy.

               A thin and gnarled hand came up and pressed off my chest. It took me a moment to realize he was pushing me around. I did stagger backwards a little but I did it as he touched me as opposed to him forcing me.

               “Don’t you dare!” Seattle exclaimed.

               The gnarled hand hung in the air for a moment before curling into a fist. I watched this in utter disbelief. I’m not in any great shape but I was sure I could hold my own against whatever scrappy moves this guy could throw at me. His eyes were furrowed and he looked to be pretty pissed. Something told me that I didn’t get the full story with this girl and her ex. His gaze told was not that of a psychopath but one of betrayal. Just what in the fuck did I think coming back to her place would bring?

               He took a step forward and I lost my resolve on fighting back. “Look, there’s been a mistake. I should be going.”

               “The mistake is you didn’t.” He snarled.

               “That I didn’t leave?” I was confused. Was I supposed to be here and just leave early? Maybe he was trying to do a catchy movie line. It felt really weak and dumb.

               During those thoughts is when his fist came around. A couple of lights popped in my head and I found myself breathing the fibers of the carpet. My cheekbone and the bridge of my nose felt like they’d had a door slammed into them.

               “What the fuck?” Someone said. At first I thought it might be the roommate. Then it occurred to me that it was probably Seattle. No one was rushing to my side so I stood slowly.

               “I come back here and find you with him?” The guy asks. With his gnarled finger pointed at me. I wondered if I was someone special or of note. I also wondered if the world wouldn’t spin for a moment so I could stand straight.

               “I’m out there meeting people.” Seattle yelled, “We’re taking a break, he’s taking a break from his girl too.” This was news to me.

               “Maybe I should go and fuck his girl then while he sits here and fucks you. Then we can all be clear headed and know that we really just fucked ourselves.” That statement seemed kind of thoughtful and possibly insightful.

               “Well what the hell do you care?” Seattle continued to yell, “I told you to leave me alone. You apparently don’t give a shit about what I say.”

               With unsure steps I began to sneak to the door. I didn’t make it halfway across the room when Seattle grabbed my arm and threw me out of it. “Both of you just get out.” Her room door slammed shut behind us and we stood awkwardly in the hall next to each other. He stood, I swayed. Seattle’s roommate watched us from the couch. Her feet up on the armrest, tiny pink socks pointed at us. With a blank expression she pointed at the door.

               The guy grabbed my arm and carried me out. He made sure to close the door behind me then we stood side by side awkwardly outside the apartment. With a sigh his shoulders dropped and he curled lower towards the floor. “Sorry about the hit.”

               The transformation left me stunned, “No problem?”

               “She just knows how to piss me off and does it.”

               “You’re not angry at me?” I asked in confusion.

               “Of course I am. But I got carried away.” He stepped closer and inspected my eye. “It’ll be black tomorrow. Put a cool slab of meat on it.”

               “Why are you being nice after that?”

               “Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you.” He explained, “You look like a nice guy, I too am nice. When I don’t walk in on my girl with a guy near her bed.”

               “Understandable reaction.” I imagined walking in on someone with Rebecca. I can’t say for sure that I would react the same way. Sure as hell I wouldn’t be nice to them afterwards. I wondered if that would make me a bad person or if this guy was daffy.

               “Anyways I’m sorry to hear about your girl.”

               My ire rose, “What?”

               “You’re temporarily separated too. At least that’s what she said.”

               My hackles came down as I remembered the muffled conversation. “Right.”

               “Anyways, sorry for the hit.” He extended the hand again. This time it came in an open palm. What a varied night that hand has had. “I’m Daniel.”

               “Sidney.”

We shook hands for a surreal moment. Then he leaned in close and looked me in the eyes. He spoke slowly and harshly, “Don’t go near her again.” And made a point of squeezing my hand.

Lacerations and trouble

“Are you here?” A voice called from the hall.

Seattle leaned out her door and began whispering to someone, probably the roommate.

I continued to study the pictures as the girls spoke. There was something amiss in the pattern, places where it looked patched up. Just in the say that some photos looked like they were pulled further out of the group, like a cut tightening the skin around as it sealed.

Seattle closed her door softly and strode back beside me. “Are there pictures missing?” I inquired.

She didn’t have to look at where I pointed. “Yeah they were of someone who’s since fallen out of favor.”

“The old boyfriend.” I asked.

She nodded slowly. I didn’t feel the need to press her for more. <y discovery was apparently not planned and had soured the moment. “I like it, different style to hanging pictures up.”

She smiled. I wasn’t getting tired of seeing that, “Beats frames.”

For a while we talked and she explained the places she’d been and what they did. She didn’t bother too much with names, instead focusing on the experience of each location that was shot and tacked to her wall.

There was a quiet knock on the outside door. A shuffling indicated that the roommate was scurrying to answer it. Seattle continued to weave her tales. She stopped weaving when we heard a chirp from outside. She stood straight up and looked at her door. From the expression on her face I expected it to burst open.  

Quiet voices were heard on the other side. One voice was sternly quiet and the other was insistently quiet. Then came the footsteps. They were heavier than the roommates. They were also slower and cautious. I could feel the hairs on my neck standing on end.

               “I know you’re in there.” Came a gruff and insistent voice.

Something small and frozen inside of me burst and filled me with a chill. “The old boyfriend?” I asked, a shiver running down my vertebrae at the look on Seattle’s face.

“Don’t say a word.” She commanded.

Photos and Chairmen

She led me by the hand into her abode. Her apartment was not unlike mine. It sported a Spartan appearance with a small adjustment to the curtains and one well placed photograph centered and above the couch. No animal greeted me at the door or called with a whimper from another room. I felt reassured in viewing this display of nothing.

“My roommate is a bit of a Nazi so forgive me if the place looks a little blah.” She apologized.

So this was the roommate’s doing. What horror would this woman spring on me? A room full of birds and bird like things? God forbid its cats. Though Bowie did leave an impression in my sour disposition towards cats and their pompous nature, he did it with a bit of flair.

“No problem.” I muttered looking about and trying to imagine what the walls would be lined with. Would she spray it pink and adorn unicorns across the walls? Maybe she would design it so that it would look as though a cherub had regurgitated while spinning on a desk chair. Maybe she was a devil worshipper and the room would be black as night lit with glowing embers from extinguished candles that wafted smells of apple pie.

Still holding my hand and dragging me through the hall we darted into her room. I tried to catch a glimpse of the roommate through a crack in the door but with the speed we moved into the room and the scant viewing port I could only make out a mess of black hair, possibly curly or recently washed.

Seattle’s room was not something I would have imagined. Along a strip of one wall in a scattered mosaic were a few dozen black and white photos from movies. On the smaller wall there were other photos framing a window. These were not just black and white, and they portrayed Seattle with friends and family in a variety of poses and situations. Some were tasteful angles and artful, others were goofy, with winks and playful seriousness. Girls stuck their pink tongues out, a few bore metallic accessories, or threw their arms round each other with their faces frozen mid excited scream.

“Fancy yourself a photographer?” I asked while my eyes wandered over each picture. The images of people taken in a moment of thought or great emotion caught my attention more than the ones filled with merriment and camaraderie.

Her room was painted a deep indigo. I imagine this is what it must be like to live within an eggplant, I didn’t voice this observation. The bed was large and the sheets were dark blue. Maybe it’s not an eggplant, maybe it’s the inside of a bruise.

“I like taking pictures.” She watched me study her hidden pleasure.

“Thank god.” I remarked as I recognized the man who bowed in the theater in a picture. He was leaning up against a wall looking off camera at something while flicking a cigarette away. It seemed to catch him in one of his non-pretentious moments, which I assume fill his waking hours. “I couldn’t imagine someone duller than a woman into economics.”She pouted for a moment and I added, “I half expected a poster of Greenspan tacked up somewhere.”

The lady blushed.

Hook and line

“I have a girlfriend.” I let the words hang there and waited for a reaction.

“Okay.” She said, her head shaking at my hesitation.

I took a deep breath before continuing. “Had a girlfriend,” I watched her for any change in mood but nothing happened. This girl was either very good or absolutely not interested. Was I losing my eye for observation or was this vixen merely toying with my fragile state. “We decided to take a break after some recent goings on.”

The girl didn’t wait a moment before asking, “You cheated on her?”

“What? No.” Did I come across this way to her, as an adulterer? Though my intentions for meeting Seattle weren’t clear to myself, I did know that I was in search for meaningful conversation and perhaps a friend who didn’t drop me off at clubs with a twenty pinned to my shirt.

The thought did begin to creep into my mind that perhaps this was her way of testing me. I thought to pry back, “How about you?” Not my best interrogation moment.

“I had one too.” My ears perked at the word, had. “So what did happen that she wanted a break?”

“Her family is a little crazy and mine isn’t wild about her.”

“Just families?” Her eyebrow arched and there was a tugging at the corner of her lips. She was playfully trying to work the truth out of me.

I couldn’t help but grinning like a fool. “No, I admit that I didn’t handle some situations the right way.” I leveled a finger at her and spoke through my dumb grin, “Don’t ask for specifics.” I imagined what it would be like to tell her about Bowie and the refrigerator or the roach and restaurant. My hand returned to the edge of the table and I settled back into my seat. “What about your boy situation?”

She giggled, “Boy indeed.” She composed herself. “He was a tad possessive and I let him go. Don’t inquire.” We sat silently for a moment reflecting on our damaged love lives. “Why can’t people just be normal, love each other and screw on a regular basis without extra strings.”

I choked on the soda that I had been drinking. Trying to alternate laughing and coughing while Seattle watched me was difficult. Eventually I managed to wheeze a gasp for air and did my best to expel the fluid from my lungs.

“Why does that always solicit the same reaction?” She asked with a laugh.

“Because,” I gasped, “You want it.”

She spoke slowly, deliberately. “I want it?”

“You know what I mean.” I coughed one last time, digging in and trying to release the last of the drink from my wind pipe.

“I do, but I’ve met all quality and variety of creep.”

I began moving the utensils around the table, positioning them in a variety of patterns. “There are a lot of crazy girls out there too.” I thought to myself that Rebecca was one of the few exceptions. “I’ve met women who could devour a man and others who were bound by no canvas jacket.”

“And I’ve met men who could set your hair on end with their vile excuse for hygienic habits. I’ve trod on the fetid lands of bathrooms unkempt and spied across the hills of cloths that time forgot.” We both crumbled into laughter. After a good bout of cheer we settled into a comfortable silence. There was warmth to the room that was probably more a lack of conditioned air but it made me feel good.

 Finding a moment of naked honesty and forgetting myself, I blurted, “It’s like being with an old friend.”

She blushed and with a sinister smile and wickedly coy hush to her voice asked, “An old friend?”

The force of my blood rushing from my body to fill the erection threatening to burst from my evening pants was dizzying. Suddenly my intentions were muddled and I forgot that this evening was not a date.

Cinema and abstract

The week went by with little fuss. I received a voicemail from my father that stated simply, “Templar Time.” I didn’t find out nor was I curious to what he meant by it and what he did. Rebecca never called me. I was sad and disappointed but not surprised. Her mom might still be in town. At least that’s what I told myself.

               The lack of drama or suspense in my week was much appreciated. It’s strange to thing that everything that happened occurred on the same day but sometimes when the world wants to throw you a curveball, it just keeps them coming.

               I did come to some strange form of understanding with my father’s situation. I can’t say I agree with the harder drug use but people drink for similar reasons and society accepts that. The confrontation did leave me a little shaken through the week. My personal issues with him aside that was an unpredictable and chaotic moment and those tend to unsettle me.

               As for Rebecca, I still wished I had heard her reasoning for our separation but the way I figure it, I would not like it or be better with it if I did know. I have my suspicions but they will go unverified until the next time we speak. As a last mention, I do miss her.

               With all these things in the back of my mind I found myself excited about the conscious meeting that I would be having with Seattle. Everything about her so far, which I admit is just short of nothing, whispers familiar and comfortable. That she contains within her the same wicked humor that allows me to get through a day serving people who purchase laxatives and anti-itch powders while not meeting my nonjudgmental eyes. That’s a lie. I play a game where I create the story in my head explaining the genesis of their ailment. Call it my gallows humor but on a consumer level.

               Apparently the movie I’m to see on Friday with Seattle is some little indie flick that will be premiered in a quiet little dark place with no more than a dozen or so in attendance. The name is ambiguous, Block. It doesn’t even give me anything to work with. The only flier I see for it displays a white background with a shadow cast by a white cube. So essentially it’s just a picture of a shadow.

               Aside from the vague cinema rendering we would witness, I felt excited. I also admit I felt a little self satisfaction that I was seeing a girl no more than a week after “taking a break”. Who knows, the evening might go very well.

The evening started horribly. Describing the plot or even what was occurring on screen as we sat in the dank, quiet, long forgotten corner of the world that just happened to have a projector and a large screen would have been impossible. There was a small cast of characters but I didn’t know if they were related, friends or actually all the same person. At one point two of them had sex but please don’t ask me which I just knew that I would need to take a cold shower and reaffirm my sexuality later with liberal amounts of computer time.

Towards the end of the movie, which occurred no less than one-hundred and forty minutes after we were seated, I witnessed a live birth. A slimy ball of hair poured forth from what had once been one of my favorite places. Poured is too lenient, it tore, like a mascot through a team banner at a football game, it tore. My feelings toward the female anatomy were altered there and then. There was nothing but respect and a bit of sympathy for the moment I witnessed. All in all though, I was greatly confused, scared and feeling a strange sensation in my feet, a need to run.

The few people who were in the cinema clapped. Someone turned around in front of me and bowed. Seattle clapped and smiled, turning to me, then back to the man basking in adulation. I wondered who this girl was and why I had thought that she could be more normal than it had turned out to be.

We stood outside and talked to the other movie goers for a while. I stood back with my hands stuffed into my pockets fingering my phone and wondering if I could call 911 without having to pull it out. The people were pleasant enough. They smiled and praised the movie for its cinematography and risqué themes. All I could remember about themes were color schemes and they were mostly red especially the sex scene and birth. I shook myself to unhinge those images.

Seattle bade them farewell and turned to me, the smile on her face gone. “Thank you for sitting through that.”

“What? That delightful piece of work? I haven’t been that entertained since A Clockwork Orange.” I said with a mock surprise. To myself I added that I understood Clockwork Orange better.

“They like to make art like that.” She watched me carefully, looking for something in my posture.

“If you didn’t enjoy it why did you come?”

She tilted her head, which allowed the mane of rust colored hair to fall to one side and looked up thoughtfully. “They’re friends. Who happen to be art majors and wildly inappropriate.”

I pushed a loose stone around on the floor. “So you’re an art major?”

She smiled. It seemed that she did that a lot. “Economics.”

I blanched and she laughed.

We went to dinner at an Applebee’s nearby. The hostess greeted us and bared her teeth at us in a mock display of happiness. She had some fish and I had a burger. For the first half of dinner she tried to explain the film to me. I couldn’t understand her explanation any better. Not that it was her fault. I found my thoughts floating back to Rebecca. She would never have taken me to see such a film. She knew my tastes and had a remarkable set of her own. Plus if something was crap, she’d say it, I’d mock it and we’d laugh. Deriving the worth of the film from its comedic failure to entertain.

Finally I told Seattle to stop trying to explain the film. An uncultured specimen as I was would gain nothing from a video of open weirdness.

“So then what do you do?”

“Me?” shoving a french fry into my mouth, “I work at a drug store catering to those who’s pelvic regions itch, sport infections and diseases that I gracefully get by without catching.”

“So you don’t go to college.” Her eyebrow was raised.

“Already did.”

“And?”

“And I got a degree.” Feeling strangely defensive, “What are you going to do with your economics?”

She sat back, and watched me eat. “Look I’m sorry you came to see that movie but you didn’t have to come. I just thought you were nice.”

I sighed and wiped the ketchup from the edges of my mouth. “I apologize. It has just been hard since graduating.”

She leaned forward again, “Personal problem hard?”

I nodded, “Among other things.”

“Tell me about them.”

I stared at her for a moment, studying the expressions in her face.

“Who am I going to tell?” She asked, “Plus if you feel that strongly afterwards, you can just disappear.”

 I thought for a moment. That feeling of something familiar demanded to be recognized. “Fine, but at the end you’ve got to fess up about yourself too.”

“We’ll see.” Was all she said.

Caffeine and serendipity

Everything felt so out of order. Within a few hours things had taken on new meaning. My dad had turned from a reserved aggressive and overly judgmental, domineering male figure into a doddering, drug fueled, sociopath intent on some unknown crusade. My longtime girlfriend, warped from her most recent maternal visit and the prior weeks of social and financial hardships decides that it is too much for her and that the way to alleviate it is through our parting of the ways.

“What the fuck!” I yell, slamming my palm into the wheel sparking protest from the car horn. Several nearby drivers look around expecting some wisp of an accident or car chase. Clenching my teeth doesn’t help alleviate the tension inside me, slamming the wheel didn’t either. I had thought at least that the steady growl and shouted explicative would make me feel better but they only filled the car with silence. The cauldron of emotions bubbling inside of me couldn’t be sorted or disturbed. It boiled and simmered rapidly leaving me angry one moment, forlorn the next and finally scared. It all left me vulnerable.

I pulled into the next hub of shops and parked. The sun was perched on the horizon watching me stroll across the asphalt. So much had happened and it was just the beginning of the weekend. The tiny voice that had guided me through most of the day chirped up a warning that troubles travel in threes. My attentions immediately shifted from the events of the day to the current situation.

I walked into a coffee shop and stood in line. I’ve never truly been to coffee shops, they seem to have a decent enough atmosphere and the people I know who attend are socially manageable if a little snooty. The patrons and ambiance become threatening under the foreboding of my third and final trial. Each customer could play a role in my cognitive and emotional undoing.

My gaze sets on a girl. “No.” I tell myself hoping for it to be an optical trick. The flash of her hair is like sooty copper under a burning sun, it flares as she becomes aware of someone’s notice and flicks her head this way and that.

“Sir your order.” The cashier commands.

I stride up the space I had not notice had opened and begin looking over the menu. All the while keeping the girl in my peripheral, I am assured that she will be the executor of the final transgression against me.

The vastness and quirky nomenclature of the menu overwhelms me. Scribbled on a chalk board in an array of colors and styles that beam friendliness and a welcoming embrace, it serves only to make me feel out of place.

Impatiently the cashier began tapping the counter with her index finger. I asked her for a small black coffee. She rolled her eyes and punched out a series of keys. I’m sure that there must’ve been some hip name to the coffee but I was in no clue to decipher the codex on the board behind her.

“Five thirty-five.” She read off to me.

I dug around my wallet for cash but was running empty. Grumbling about the price and mentioning that the coffee should provide me full service I handed the lady my credit card.  She swiped it and punched into a keypad.

A chill passed over me as I felt eyes lingering on my profile. The auburn hair had been replaced with a face that studied me. I kept myself facing the register even as I waited for the moment that she would click two and two together.

“Sir, it was declined.” The cashier didn’t look surprised.  She flipped the card back into my hand and waited with her fists lumped on hips.

“I don’t really have…” I began.

“Hey, I was wondering when you’d show up.” Seattle Blue sashayed up to me and planted a kiss on my cheek before dropping $5.50 on the counter and telling the girl to keep the change.

Seattle looped her arm around mine and guided me back to her table. I was speechless and probably had my mouth hanging open again. She planted me opposite her and then smiled from across the small table. “I remember you but not your name. All I know is that it’s also a city.” Her voice was softer than I remembered.

“Sidney.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. The images of that night replaying behind her eyelids. As she opened her eyes I noticed that they were a pretty brown. I had expected some exotic green but the brown was charming.

“You probably remember me.” She said her eyes meeting mine.

“You’re wicked.” I was grinning like a school boy. “Am I still supposed to call you Seattle?”

“You do remember.” Her cheeks went rosy.

“That was great up there by the way.”I said, indicating the counter.

               “Irksome people bother me. She gave me the same attitude.” She drummed her hands on the table and watched me. “So,” her eyebrows went up. I was missing the social cue.

               “Sorry, I’m not going to be as pleasant company.” I cleared my throat trying to prevent my voice from hiking as I said, “It hasn’t been a good day.”

               “Personal bad or things where you work?”

               I had barely spoken to this girl for more than fifteen minutes but something about her felt familiar and flowed. That being known I still said, “I’m sorry but I don’t know you well enough to say.” I didn’t want to ruin what was starting to feel like the only sane moment today. Something made me want to tell her but that feeling made me reel myself all the harder into a taught ball of introversion.

               She just smiled at me, “Personal then. I get it. You don’t even know my name.”

               “Seattle Blue has a nice flow to it.”

               Her eyes widened, “So you remember my whole fake name. I must have made an impression then.”

               This time I blushed, “Raucous orgies and pretty girls are not my usual so yes.” The hotness in my face subsided, “But you remembered me too, or else I would be trying to back out of paying for my coffee right now.”

               “You made me laugh a little. I went out to support a friend. Orgies are not my scene as well.”

               Was I flirting? Was it wrong for me to be flirting? Something inside me felt a tinge the traitor but most of this felt like a reprieve. My stomach was still in a knot with the echo of my father’s bellow and my heart was still barely beating with Rebecca’s decision.

               “Sorry that I’m not my comedic self. I’m just out of alignment.”

               “Things are that bad? No need to answer. Anyways it was nice to meet you once more.” She began putting her book back into her bag. I wanted to continue talking but couldn’t think of what. I truly knew nothing about this girl. The most I knew was that she liked coffee shops, reading and had distaste for public gatherings of indecency.

               Feeling like I was experiencing the third strike of the day I opened my mouth to protest. She stopped me with a look and put a card on the table.

               “Friday I’m going to see a movie. Should you find yourself available and curious to check it out this is my number.” She slipped me a small square of paper.

               I looked at the card. It had her phone number typed neatly in the center. I wondered if she gave these out regularly enough to print them. Who was I meeting and what was I looking to get into. Nothing else was printed on it. Perhaps it was a fake, but this was a strange way to give someone a fake number.

               She continued, “Consider this your mulligan. Now we’re even.” She smiled then, “Next time we meet it’ll be on purpose and make sure you bring you’re A game. Before you ask too, this is not me asking you out. You seem nice and I’m talking too much.”

               She slid from the chair and stood. With a flick of her hand, her hair was tossed back over her shoulder and she scooped up her trash.

               “What’s your name?” I asked.

               She watched me for a moment and I caught a glimmer of her conflicting thoughts of telling me. She settled on, “I don’t know you well enough.” With that she began walking away. As a final thought she said over her shoulder, “Be there Friday and we’ll start.”

               When the bell hanging above the door signaled her departure I began breathing again. This was wrong, something told me, Rebecca’s still around. The gloom that had vanished returned. Time to get back to my life.

               I almost left before realizing that the woman at the register had placed my coffee on the counter. If she called my name or tried to get my attention I had failed to notice. Grabbing the cool cup I grimaced and left the coffee shop sipping its cool contents.