A little lunchtime story for ya: Her name was Claire. She never did tell me her last name. She liked to hold back, keep certain things ambiguous, mysterious. I suppose it didn’t matter. She’d say things like, “Just because you get it doesn’t mean you get to keep what you get.” I never could figure out half of what she meant. She always spoke out of context. I think she liked it that way. Her birth date changed every time I asked. One night, late, at Jimmy’s 24 Hour Diner, next door to The Blue Room, we talked over coffee and under florescent lighting. Outside, the wind brushed the large storefront window with a cold autumn rain. She dragged on her smoke and blew it back in my face, laughing, knowing I was trying to quit. She protested loudly on how the tiled floor clashed with the leatherette seating. It was an assault, she proclaimed. A lone tea light on the table reflected in her eyes. It was hard not to get lost in that, in her eyes, even when she was drunk. “I can’t stand this place, Ronny,” she said to me. Her eyes welled up at that. “I’m tired of just existing. I want to live! I need someone to love!” She slapped a hand on the table and our coffee cups complained. A lady at the counter turned in our direction. On the radio Joni Mitchell sang about a paved paradise. “You got me, baby,” I consoled. “I’ll take care of you.” “Oh Ronny,” she started, a small smile curling her red lips, “you are a sweet guy but sometimes a woman needs a man who can, oh I don’t know – you wouldn’t understand.” She stared out the window. The wet street outside was empty and quiet, save for the odd car passing by. Across the street an old lady waited patiently under a black umbrella for her poodle to do its business. The road sparkled like Christmas under the street lamps. Ill never understand you, Claire, I said, somewhat exasperated. She reached across the table and took my hand in hers. I turned away. I wanted to pull my hand back but didnt. A lock of curly auburn hair fell across her face. She made no effort to move it. Youre a dear, Ronny, you know that. There will always be a special place in my heart for you, sweetie. She gave my hand a squeeze and smiled and nodded. A clatter of dishes in the back kitchen caught our attention momentarily. When I looked at her again, a lone tear had traced its way down her cheek. She spoke softly, But honey, it would never work for us. You know that. I like drama in my life and you like the calm. I felt an argument rise on my lips, wanting to get let lose. I held it back. She was right, of course. I didnt understand quite why, but I knew it, knew she was right. Yeah, I suppose, is all I said. She leaned across the table and kissed me hard on the mouth. When she pulled back, I leaned in and kissed her again. The night held its breathe and my heart. We stopped and just starred into each others eyes. Any gal would be lucky to have you, Ronny. You know that? She said. Yeah, whatever... Later, we watched the sunrise down at the docks, surrounded by large Great Lake tankers. Gulls gathered nearby looking for scraps. We held hands as a new day grew out of the distant horizon, lighting the sky orange. I walked her back to the bus stop and waited for the first bus of the day. She kissed my cheek once before boarding and waved from the window as the bus lumbered off. The wet streets were already beginning to dry. By the time I got back to the rooming house, Dale, the landlord, was already out front having his first smoke of the day. Heya Ronny, late night, huh, he said. He was still in his housecoat, his hair dishevelled from a nights sleep. I nodded and smiled, too tired to talk. You want a smoke? he said. Nope. Not today, Dale. I quite. This time for good. I headed up to my room, to bed.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Oct 2013 18:09:15 +0000
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