The sky’s canvas was already drenched in black by the time He had walked out the door, and it was hardly a bit past supper time. It wasn’t a hard thing to do, not really. He had most of what He needed in His pockets already. The only thing He grabbed before leaving was a small box of matches, the kind made from a single rectangular strip of cardboard folded in half, its matchsticks all sharing the same base like a flammable mushroom colony.
“You don’t even smoke.” He thought.
“Yeah, but I might meet someone who needs a light.” He answered.
It was quiet in the Town at this point. Nightlife, even on the weekend, hardly ever lived past eleven before the residents of the Town began to migrate back into their homes. There was no reason to stay out; they had nothing to run from.
He walked, somewhat clumsily, down the sidewalk. He could hardly keep a straight trajectory while wearing his too-large boots, and veered in different directions with each couple of steps. The dead trees that surrounded Him illuminated this meandering path. Vast strings of lights clung tightly to their lifeless limbs, drenching the streets in amber luminance as if the tree’s soul was tied to its corporeal form.
“Trees don’t have souls.”
“How do you know?”
“What does it matter if they do or don’t? It doesn’t change the fact that they’re trees.”
Eventually, He reached His destination and sat wearily upon a wooden bench. A worn brass plaque on one of its many beams dedicated its existence as a tribute to Jonah M. He crossed His legs over each other, one foot beginning to shake in tune with a nonexistent rhythm. It wasn’t long before the bus arrived, its rectangular headlights burning a path into the road.
–Ticket, please. The bus driver said.
He handed it over.
He quickly found a seat next to a window at the back of the bus. The tired fabric welcomed Him as did the constant thrumming noise of the vehicle. He felt brief glances come His way as He settled into the seat.
“Mom will be upset about this.”
“Mom’s upset about everything. This will be no different.”
“Yeah, but you planned this; bought a ticket and everything.”
“Calling this a plan is a bit of an embellishment.”
The steady rhythm and warm, stale air of the bus lulled Him into a dreamless sleep. His features melted into unconscious placidity, and His head bobbed gently with each bump the bus hit.
***
The City thrummed as He stepped off the bus. He shrugged His shoulders, perched Himself on his tiptoes, a hard thing to do in His large boots, and finally, cracked His knuckles, placing His thumb over each digit and pressing down. Traffic lights and illuminated signs reflected the emblazoned light across puddles, making even the ground shine.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure. I told you calling this a plan was an overstatement.”
He placed each step onto the pavement precisely. Large, steady strides, in which He gently swayed his shoulders. He held His back tall and His head high, although His eyes darted about constantly.
People flooded the streets, and all manner of them, too. He offered simple smiles to some of them, most of which weren’t returned.
“Do you want to smile at them?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Why would you?”
“Because it’s polite.”
“Only if it’s genuine.”
After a stint of wandering, He made His way to a coffeehouse. It wasn’t a cafe, nor was it a coffee shop. It was a coffeehouse. With some effort, He swung open its heavy wooden door and entered. The building was surprisingly spacious. A long bench inhabited the left wall, and delicate circular tables stood in front of it. There were no chairs, only stools, save for a few worn leather armchairs which rested wearily on various large rugs towards the back of the building. The food and beverage itself seemed to be ordered from a stained wooden bar, populated by more stools.
“I like this. Feels homey.”
“That’s a funny thing to be looking for.”
He approached the bar, making sure to straighten his shoulders and correct His posture.
–Would you like a menu?
–No, that’s okay. I’ll have a latte, please.
–Does whole milk work?
“Almond.”
“Two percent.”
–Yeah, that’s perfect.
He flashed the Barista a slight grin.
–Can I get a name for that?
He gave the Barista a name and moved towards the wilting leather chairs. He sat down and inhaled deeply. The building had a rich smell; incense, coffee, and the must of old furniture all intermingling.
“That Barista was quite attractive.”
“I know.”
“Are you going to do anything about it?”
“She’s too old.”
“She doesn’t know your age. You look old.”
He allowed Himself to drift. His eyes rested dully on a chess match being played in the corner of the room. Soft jazz vibrated the air and provided much-needed background noise to hide conversations. He took a pen from his pocket and quickly started to disassemble it. First, He removed the cap, then unscrewed the tip from the barrel, slid off the spring, and finally plucked out the ink chamber. When He was done, He laid out all the pieces on the arm of the chair from smallest to largest. The brazen metal of the components offered a stark contrast to the cracked black leather of the chair.
He heard the Barista call the name. He took the loose pen components in His hand and shoved them into His pocket. He didn’t need to correct his posture this time; He only set His jaw. He walked to the bar in measured strides.
–One latte.
She was quite attractive. Or at least, She had a look which caught His eyes; fascinated Him. She wore a simple black sweater with a knit cream cardigan over it. A black wool beret sat atop a head of dark curly hair, and loose-legged jeans completed the look. Most striking was the Barista’s face. A thin gold nose ring immediately drew in one’s gaze, but it was Her eyes that captured it for good. A dark brown, nearly indistinguishable from the richness of black coffee.
–Do you need anything else?
“Say something.”
–No, I’m alright. Thanks.
“No. There’s beauty in what could have been.”
He grabbed the small plate and the cup that rested on it. His pale fingers took the items skeletally.
He retreated to His chair and placed the drink on a coffee table in front of Him before sitting down. His watch read 12:41 AM, but it always ran an hour ahead no matter how often He would adjust the dial. He sipped His latte and brought His attention back to the chess game. White was losing miserably, being down many points and lacking control of the center of the board. If Black played well, he could have a checkmate in a couple of moves.
By the time He had finished drinking his latte, it had gone cold, and many of the customers in the coffeehouse had left. The chess game was left unfinished after one of the participants received a phone call and briskly walked out the door.
“Place is about to close.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe keep walking?”
“You know why you left; what you’re here for.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, you chose to leave.”
“It was just a decision, everyone makes them.”
“Not like you do.”
“You act like that’s a bad thing.”
“It is, and you know it.”
“It’s kept us around this long.”
“You act like that’s a good thing.”
He stood up and looked around for a place to put His cup. His eyes held their gaze on the Barista for a moment. He cracked His fingers.
Outside was colder than He remembered. The wind spoke harsh things to the air, and He felt the same words whip His face. Once again, He began His calculated walk down the street, feeling the frigid air fill His lungs with each deep breath He took.
“It’s the little things.”
There wasn’t any snow. Hoarish sludge bordered the sidewalk instead and made each step land with a squelch. It hadn’t snowed all winter or the winter before that. Not in any meaningful amount, at least.
“I feel like it snowed more at the old school.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“It snowed more. I remember sledding.”
His eyes, ever vigilant, scanned the sidewalk ahead of Him, occasionally veering off to admire someone He found particularly well-dressed. He noticed He was soon approaching a person sitting tiredly on the sidewalk. His hand reached for His wallet, returning with a couple of creased one-dollar bills.
–Stay safe out there.
He handed the man the bills, eyes darting to read what was scribbled on his damp cardboard sign.
–Thank you. God bless.
He began to take His next step but abruptly stopped. His lips parted, and the quiet essence of a word escaped but went unheard. He shook His head concisely and took one more step away before stopping again and turning to face the homeless man.
–I don’t know where to go. What should I do?
His words came out hot and jumbled.
The homeless man looked at Him.
–I don’t know. Why are you asking me?
***
He stood next to the bus stop bench. The seat was slick with cold rain. His fingers began to crack each other but no sound emerged from their joints, and they quickly stopped. His eyes began to wander instead; it wasn’t long before they became lost, and His mind slipped with them.
–So what were you there for?
His head rose from the cement He had been studying and turned to the source of the noise. It was the Barista.
“Wh–”
He stood, lips parted, for a moment.
–What do you mean?
–Happy people don’t usually end up at a place like that.
The Barista’s voice was warm, incredibly so. And inquisitive, too. He wanted more of it.
–So, what does it mean that you work there?
“Clever, but not too witty. Keep it relaxed.”
The Barista paused. What appeared almost as a ghost of a smile seemed to bless Her lips for a moment.
–I just like to watch them. The customers, that is.
–Was I particularly enjoyable to observe?
He felt the Barista’s eyes on him. It felt strange; different. Scary but exciting.
–No, not really.
He smiled, lips cracking in the cold wind.
–I figured as much.
–Why’s that?
A bus crawled forward towards them. Yellow headlights illuminated the shadowed ads that covered the Bus Stop around them.
The Barista looked at the bus and then at Him. She spoke again.
–I don’t feel like going home yet. Want to keep talking with me?
–Yes.
***
They walked down the slush-stained streets. He didn’t talk, and neither did She. Instead, He found himself preoccupied with the rhythm of Her footsteps, and occasionally His eyes would steal glances to see how She carried Herself in motion.
–You never answered my question.
–You never answered mine.
Silence engulfed the Pair.
–I don’t know. I just needed to get out of the house. I figured no one would look twice at me in the city.
The Barista grinned.
–You crack easily.
He smiled back.
–Well one of us needed to continue the conversation.
–Who said that?
–Said what?
–That the conversation needed to keep going.
–Isn’t that why I’m walking with you, to talk?
–It can be.
He nodded, smiling.
–Can I get an answer, too?
–Why I work there?
–Yeah. Or actually, no. I changed my mind. Why bother asking me to talk with you?
–That’s a good one.
He observed Her more intently now. The expressiveness of Her eyebrows when She spoke, the way Her eyes would occasionally meet His, how Her hair blew with each icy gust.
–Well, what I said earlier was true, I like watching people. It’s not often I get to have a real conversation with them, though. That’s why, I guess.
He laughed.
–It’s a shame you got an unremarkable one on your first go, then.
–Maybe. I’m not so sure.
The Barista looked straight ahead.
–So, do you have your own place?
–Yeah, you could say that. Place might be a strong word, though. It’s as much of a place you can get off a Barista’s wages.
She turned to face Him.
–With tips, that is.
He laughed again.
–Still, it must be nice. The freedom and everything.
–There’s less freedom than you would think. It’s just that you have to make the rules now.
She paused.
–Do you live with roommates or something?
“Shit.”
–I uhm.
“Don’t do it.”
–I still live with my parents. I haven’t graduated yet. High school, I haven’t graduated High School.
“Damn it.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. I felt like I could.”
She smiled.
–Yeah, that makes sense. I thought you looked a bit young.
He let silence fill the space between Them. They continued to walk.
–I don’t care, you know.
–I’m glad.
He looked down at His boots.
–Where are we going, anyway?
–Just a spot I like.
The vibrancy of the City choked and sputtered as the Pair wandered. Streets grew desolate, and the warm glare of headlights faded. Eventually, the large buildings faded with them. The Barista turned right.
He checked his watch.
“You’re running out of time.”
“It’s worth it.”
A large chain link fence stood in front of them. Beyond it lay a train yard. The rusty behemoths slumbered peacefully, their iron scales adorned in graffiti. She turned to Him, the contours of Her face stood out profusely in the nacreous rays of light. It seemed almost as if She was a painting.
–Do you need a boost?
–I’m not sure. Do you?
–I wouldn’t offer if I needed one.
–I’ll try it myself.
He took a couple of paces back, analyzing the fence. He articulated His frozen, cracked digits in preparation.
“You’re going to tear up your hands grabbing the rougher parts.”
“I know.”
He rushed towards the obstacle and jumped, His hands grasping firmly onto the upper metal bar. He pulled Himself up without much hassle and shifted over the edge onto the other side of the fence. She nodded and followed suit.
She began walking towards one of the railcars. She tested its doors before sliding the iron scale back. It was empty inside. She entered and gestured for Him to do the same.
It was cold inside the behemoth. She sat leaning against a corner, Her legs outstretched and crossed over each other. He sat against one of the walls.
She reached into Her cardigan pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes, Newports. His eyes widened.
–Do you need a light?
Her eyes addressed Him a bit skeptically. He felt the same rush of excitement and fear as Her gaze fell upon Him.
–You smoke?
–No.
He reached into His pocket, retrieving the matchbook.
–I have matches, though.
She smiled and scooted towards Him.
He tore off one of the mycelial sticks from its colony and struck it. A small flame was born between the two. He lit Her cigarette.
She took a long drag and exhaled.
“So why do you walk like that?” The Barista asked.
He looked at Her, absorbed the words. He tried to crack His fingers. Still, no sound emerged.
“Walk like what?” He responded.
“Like a robot. It’s so strict. I’ve never seen anything like it,” She paused, “I thought you came here because no one would look at you twice?”
He struggled to look Her in the eye.
“Yeah, I did say that. I don’t really know. I think that–” He was stumbling over His words, “maybe there’s a difference between being looked at and being seen.”
“Do you not like being seen?”
He laughed a bit.
“This is a lot of questioning.”
She smiled wryly at Him.
“‘Well, one of us needed to continue the conversation.’”
“You have me there,” He paused, “I guess it’s just the vulnerability.”
“Yeah, that’s fair.”
She took another drag.
He felt a strange compulsion to speak; to confess.
“And, the knowledge that you want to be seen but are too afraid of the consequences. So you’re just trapped, and it’s your own fault. ”
He looked at His lap. The smell of nicotine filled the boxcar.
“Well, you are telling this all to a stranger. That’s something.”
“Are you really a stranger?”
She smiled.
“Probably not anymore.”
He looked back up at Her.
“Can it be my turn?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“How often do you come here?”
“Whenever I want to think.”
“Can I get one more?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you observe people?”
She was quiet for a moment.
“I like seeing the little differences in everyone. People do certain things when they think they’re not being watched. They whisper a bit louder when they assume no one’s listening. I think you can gather a lot from that kind of stuff.”
He nodded along.
“Are you the same? Do you act differently, too?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think I’m too conscious of myself to ever do something without noticing if that makes sense.”
“That sounds tiring.”
“Yeah.”
She faced away from Him.
“It’s lonely, too. Or I guess it’s not lonely in itself, but it contributes to it.”
“Do you not have any friends?”
“I don’t think you need to be alone to be lonely.”
She looked back towards Him.
“I figure you might get that.”
He scooted a bit closer to Her. His heart quickened its pace.
The Pair sat quietly for a long while. The only noise present came from the occasional exhalation of smoke. Eventually, He checked His watch.
“Do you need to go?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.”
“I have school, and my parents will be mad.”
She sighed.
“Yeah.”
The Barista looked out the boxcar towards the expanse of other trains.
“I’m going to leave.”
He looked up upon hearing the statement. He began to open His mouth.
“Leave the city, I mean.”
He felt a sharp twinge of pain erupt in His chest.
“When?”
“Tonight. I’m sure one of these trains is going somewhere.”
She shifted Her gaze back to Him. Their eyes connected. He saw His reflection in Her pupils.
“Do you want to come with me?”
The question thrust a searing iron rod through His being. He felt His head begin to grow hot with its implications, where it would lead, and its consequences. At the very same moment, a tearing sensation threatened to split apart His chest.
“You want me to come?” He fought with His voice not to crack.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Where would we go?”
“Wherever we want to.”
He opened and closed His mouth multiple times.
She smiled.
“Whatever you’re going to ask, I don’t know. It’s just something we would need to figure out along the way.”
He closed his mouth. His brain was immolating in its brazier.
“I can’t.”
He paused.
“It’s not that I don–”
She stifled Her cigarette on the boxcar floor.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
She stood up and stretched.
“It’s getting late, or early, I guess. I think we should both go.”
He sat there in perfect silence, observing how the moon backlit Her silhouette in a milky halo. He felt as if He might crumble to ash.
“Before you go, I never got your name. Can I have it?”
She answered.
She turned and took a step towards the exit.
“Wait.”
She looked back.
“The name I told you at the coffeehouse, it’s not mine. It was a lie.”
He gave Her His name.
“It was nice meeting you.” She paused. “I hope we see each other again.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
He watched as She hopped down from the boxcar and into the field of trains. Once She was out of sight, He clasped His arms around His body. His fingers dug into His side, every muscle taught. The pressure behind His eyes was unbearable. He struggled to push tears out, but none came.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Why didn’t you?”
***
He sank into the stained bus seat. There was an attempt to cross one leg over the other, but a leaden soreness overtook each fiber in His being. He fell asleep, legs splayed awkwardly in front of Him as if He were the curled husk of an extinguished match.
When He awoke, the bus was all but empty. An elderly woman sat towards the front, hands tucked in her lap, sound asleep. He checked His pockets, feeling that each belonging was nestled securely before shambling out of the vehicle.
–Thanks. He mumbled.
A deep sigh escaped as He planted His boots on the familiar pavement. He trudged back into Town, the soles of His shoes scraping against the sidewalk.
The toe of His boot hit a cracked sidewalk tile, and He stumbled forward. His other leg rushed forward to stabilize Him. He continued to shuffle down the familiar street. The tree’s lights had shut off, the unilluminated strings seemed limp against the trees, a tired spider’s web.
He looked down at his watch, observing the too-fast hour hand. He unclasped the timepiece, holding it tightly. His knuckles whitened with strain, and He threw it. The watch skittered across the pavement. He kept walking.
In front of Him was a house. He looked up. The sun was rising.