nine- Ghost Stories

“Tell me a story Henry…”

“What kind of story, little girl?” Henry looks down at Audrey, lying sideways on his bed, her head on his stomach looking sideways back up at him. Her naked body, barely visible, the moonlight shining through the blinds creates wide gaps in the darkness wrapped around her body. Like black silk sheets, one clinging to her breasts and another lain across her legs just below her waist.

“A bedtime story!”

“Once upon a time there was a princess locked away in a tower by an evil…”

“Oh fuck no!” Audrey groans as she turns onto her back, exposing her breasts to the moonlight; like a painting framed in natural light, the two soft mounds look as if they belong to a Greek goddess. That is if the statues in museums are at all accurate.

“Ok! Calm down. There once was a man from Nantucket…”

“Henry Hurt! You’re giving me second thoughts about you! And your perfect ass! Now tell me a GOOD bedtime story or I’m fucking going home!” In her feigned anger, Audrey still manages to speak with a voice as sweet as it is soothing.

“Aud’, I really hate it when you fucking cuss. Please, you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever been with, but you need to be a little more ladylike.” Audrey sighs but nods in compliance.

“I’m still head over heels though. So, what kind of story, little Audrey?”

Audrey feels the sting of Henry’s words like the aftershock of a slap to the cheek. It’s not his fault, she thinks.  There are no benefits that come with a foul mouth, she agrees. She’s a better person every time he corrects her, she cedes. Her appetite for a fairy tale subsided, she makes up her mind and gives Henry her answer.

“Tell me a ghost story Henry…” He smiles and nods. He reaches his hand out to her. She accepts.

Lying in the dark, their two bodies intersecting, Henry begins:

“This is not a new story, just a new way to tell it. This is a story of a man and the woman he loved.  They were married young but deeply in love and they made their home on a wide lake that sat beneath a tall waterfall. The rushing river that flowed down would roar during the day like a beast, a powerful reminder of all who had died leaping from its great height into the clear waters below. At night the wind bellowed from the deep of the trees; the voices of the spirits blowing sorrowful waves across the calm lake. By the fireplace she would crawl into his arms and listen to him tell stories of love and dragons, princesses in towers, and the ghosts in the woods that surrounded the lake. When the fire died they would lie in bed in a close embrace, falling asleep in each others warmth with the spirits of the lake whispering through the leaves of the trees…”

“Tell me about her Nick.” Chloe crawls across Nick’s bed and onto him lying on his back with one arm under his head. Her legs reaching across his, her head falls softly on his chest. She looks up at him with slight sadness in her eyes.

“Tell you about who?” Nick looks down at Chloe’s face, clean of makeup and even more beautiful without. She smells of soap and toothpaste, and he feels embarrassed that he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet. He feels embarrassed by her question, knowing exactly who she’s asking about.

“The pain… in here... Maria.” Chloe runs her fingers across his chest, in slow circles ever widening.

“Maria… She’s a ghost from the past.” Nick closes his eyes. Chloe strokes his hair.

“Tell me about her. I like ghost stories.” Chloe presses her cheek against Nick’s. His eyes open, a few small tears appear.

“We were together for a year, the longest I’ve ever been with a girl. We disagreed over everything, but I was crazy about her. All of my friends think that we only lasted as long as we did, because I kept us going.” Nick pauses. “I know she loved me… it just took me a while to realize it. When I did, it was too late.”

“After a few years of living mostly alone by the lake, the young man began to grow restless. He still loved his young bride, but the bliss had gone away and the love that once excited and blinded him had dulled and lost passion. Gone were the nights by the fire. He had run out of stories to tell and could not find the enthusiasm to create new ones. He longed for adventure and sometimes, with shame, he dreamed of someone new. His beautiful wife was unaware. Her heart was forever determined and the strength of her love unwavering.

One evening, the young man decided he could stay no longer. He took his wife by the hand and confessed his feelings. Her simple nightgown wet with tears. He told her he would leave in the morning, saddle his horse and ride to the next town. With her heart breaking, she did not sleep the whole night. The sun rose and she begged him not to go. The young man continued to pack his clothes and saddle his horse. Nothing she said could break his resolve.

As he rode away she ran after him and called for him to stop. He halted his horse and turned to her. Standing barefoot on the dirt path, her face now dry of tears, she said to him, “I know I can’t stop you now. But I still have hope that you will come back. So I’ll wait here for one week. When the sun rises on the seventh day, I will be gone. One week my love… If you don’t come back before then… you’ll never find me again.” The young man’s heart felt heavy, but he did not understand the gravity of her words. He turned from her and rode away…”

“Maria worked at a small bakery downtown. I went in for a coffee one morning. I didn’t really want anything. I just wanted to talk to her. I saw her there a couple of times while I rode by on my bike in between deliveries. She was new and was working at the register but what she really wanted to do was bake. I thought she was really cute with her short black waves for hair and wide-eyed smile.” Nick’s eyes are open, but through them he sees not the ceiling, but her instead; the smooth dark tan coloring her features, which can only be described as the pearls of Southeast Asia. Her body, fit and well defined, the result of daily conditioning and healthy eating. Chloe watches Nick drift off, his mind and senses remembering what it was like to make love to Maria. The smell of her lavender and almond lotion and the sweet taste of her skin, the lilac filling the air as her hair brushed against his face. The soft muscles, the sloping curves, the firmness perfectly married to the tenderness of her body. And her bright brown eyes, the only light he could see through the darkness that held their bodies together. Nick takes a long deep breath, holding it for what feels like forever before he finally lets it go.

“Like I said before, we disagreed over everything. We fought a lot. Most nights, either I would be driving away from her apartment in my truck, my jeans and t-shirt barely on, or I’d be watching her back out of my driveway in her little black Honda. I can’t remember how many times I stood at the end of that driveway watching her California license plate disappear down the street.” Nick turns his head away from Chloe, still stroking his hair, and looks out the window at the midnight-blue night sky.

“She was afraid to commit. That was my biggest problem. Her ex hurt her pretty bad and she kept me at a distance. Every fight we had… we kept saying it was over.” Nick laughs shaking his head.

“But I loved her. I really did, and I was always able to convince her to give it another try.” Nick pauses. His chest rises and falls dramatically, like it’s hard for him to breath. His eyes wander all around the room.

“I just got so… tired. I felt like every day was a fight to keep her with me, to keep her wanting to be with me.  After a while, she gave in, started saying the words I love you. It was the best time of our relationship. She got promoted to the kitchen and I’d walk into her apartment to all kinds of intoxicatingly sweet smells coming out of the oven. We even stopped fighting… for a while.” Nick pauses, his mouth open, searching for words.  Chloe has stopped stroking his hair, her hand resting firmly on his chest.

“But I was tired. I fought so hard to keep her. I barely had any strength left to just be with her…”

“The first day in the big busy town, he spent indulging in all that he gave up when he married. He found old friends and met new ones. They laughed and sang into the night, sharing stories and drinking the taverns dry. Not once did he think of the young woman he left behind on the lake just that morning. The next day he spent with several women, dancing, drinking, and diving into dirty sheets on different beds. Still the thought of his lonely bride waiting by the fireplace of their cold empty home had not crossed his inebriated mind. The rest of the week blurred together into a timeless binge of pleasure-seeking in a state of drunken deluge. He had lost track of the hours and only knew two times of day, what came after the sun rose and the night that followed its setting. One morning he woke up, his breath foul and his lungs choked. His limbs, his bones ached from the long days of selfish and limitless revelry. But the most apparent condition was in his heart. He finally felt guilt, regret, and remorse. All he had done in the past few days had left him nothing but empty and missing his beloved.  The thrills were temporary, the merriment fleeting, the vices all had sour aftertastes and had weakened his body and mind. He counted the days backwards and realized that it was the sixth day. His love would be gone by the next sunrise. He packed his bags and readied his horse, fast like a man who had done something wrong and had too little time to right it. Without saying goodbye to anyone, he rode out of town in a fury. In a rush and still slightly intoxicated, he didn’t realize he was riding in the wrong direction…”

“It was obvious. I stopped trying. I let her do all the work. She cooked for me all the time. She rubbed my back while I hunched over my drawings. She took the blame for the fights.” His legs become restless. Chloe tries to settle them with hers.

“This went on for months. And the worst thing about it, is that I stood there watching it all crack and crumble.  Like some fucked up fairy tale, I can describe, from beginning to end, our relationship dying by degrees. I let it happen!” The sudden shout spreads across the room disturbing the quiet scene. Chloe opens her mouth to hush him, but kisses his cheek instead. She understands his frustration. She often wishes she could still feel enough to scream while she’s lying alone on her bed. She kisses him again. ‘Maybe it can be him,’ she thinks to herself. ‘He’s hurt like me. Maybe we can be hurt together. There’s no mending what’s broken. There’s no flying again. It’s all bullshit! But maybe, we can just be two flightless birds protecting each other and sharing what little hope for the sky we still have. Maybe…’

“Maria… she had gotten into a couple grad schools. I didn’t even know she applied. I wasn’t supposed to know. It was the worst time of our relationship. We were near the end. It was miserable, but I could tell she was keeping something from me, something that was making her happy that she wasn’t telling me about.” Nick clenches his fists and rubs them against his temples.

“One evening, we couldn’t decide on a movie or where to eat, I don’t even remember anymore. We started to fight and I fucking let it all go.” He rubs his fists harder against his head.

“I told her everything I felt: that I was the reason we were together, and that she fucking wore me out, and that I was tired… and tired of her being so fucking happy while I was in the next room and fucking miserable when we were in the same bed.” He pauses, looking straight into a spot on the ceiling.

“I told her I knew she was hiding something from me. I asked her if she was fucking someone else… I tried to force her to admit that she was fucking someone else. I know there’s a difference.” Nick looks down at Chloe and in her eyes are sparkling diamonds of tears. He wants to wipe them off, but knows they would soon replenish. He goes on.

“I didn’t think she would ever stop crying. It wasn’t a fight anymore, it was a fucking assault. I stopped talking and just sat on the bed across from her, waiting for her to stop crying and yell back! Tell me that she was sleeping with some guy who was better than me!” Nick wipes Chloe’s drowning eyes, her red cheeks tremble against his palms.

“She didn’t. She spoke really softly, sweet even, like we were in bed whispering before sleep. There was no one else. She was happy about the grad schools, but didn’t say anything because they were all out of state and she didn’t want to upset me. She was waiting to hear from Portland State and Reed. If she couldn’t stay here with me, then she wasn’t going to grad school.” Chloe has stopped crying but her face is still blushed. Her chest feels heavy as Nick speaks. She remembers a scene like the one he’s describing, of her sitting on the edge of a bed, dying slowly across from a boy too proud to console her and too young to know how.

“That was the moment I realized she loved me; when I knew without a doubt that I had broken her heart. I couldn’t think of anything to say while she packed up everything she had here. I remembered when she brought each item, as she threw it in one of her bags. Do you remember Christmas when you were a girl? You’re house all decorated with candy canes and Christmas lights, angels, holly, reindeer? Do you remember how bright it all was?” Chloe smiles a little.

“Do you remember after Christmas? When the decorations would come down? Every artifact of the Christmas just passed, every bough of holly, and every Christmas light that came down took away some of that brightness, some of that spirit. It’s not that you get sadder as the house gets darker and darker. It’s that you get less and less happy, until everything is back the way it was before the holidays. Then you just feel out of place… even in your own house…”

“The young man rode farther and farther away from the lake, and his home, and his lonely wife. He had forgotten the feeling of hunger. He did not know thirst or fatigue. He pushed his horse harder and faster, chasing after the hazy horizon. He could see her in the distance, a speck but shiny and growing as he pushed forward and towards the gleaming goal. He was so focused, so resolute, he did not recognize the unfamiliarity of the road beneath him, or of the woods on either side. He pushed on.

The glimmering dot gradually grew, brightening and widening. For the first time, he felt worried. He had been riding for hours and could no longer ignore the rumbling in his stomach, the dryness in his throat, and the pain climbing up his legs and onto his back. He had to stop.

As he sat on the ground, catching his breath and resting his sore limbs, he looked up at the sky and the clouds that wandered all around it. His eyes wandered from cloud to cloud until he reached the sun. He looked as long as he could then looked down with tears in his eyes, for as he stared into the sun he saw his own reflection and behind him the glimmering dot. He now knew that he had been going the wrong way. He mourned at the revelation, searching around him for anything recognizable: a mountain range, a tree line, a tailing stream. Nothing. The sun had begun to set and he needed to ride to it, under it, before it was swallowed by the ground. He was too far away now. He knew he would not make it in time and that she would be lost to him forever. He rode on anyway…”

“She finished packing, washed her face, and then sat down next to me on the bed. We both looked down at our feet. I still didn’t know what to say. I think she knew that, because she just kissed me on the cheek, stood up, and walked out that door.” Nick sits up on the bed, Chloe leans back against his chest, and they both stare at the bedroom door. They can both see the ghost of a girl walking through the door and disappearing into the darkness beyond.

“I heard the front door open and close. It was like waking up to an alarm clock and realizing that I was late. I ran out barefoot, I tripped in the living room but I got up fast and jumped out the front door. She was just standing there in the driveway next to her car. It looked like she was waiting for me.” Nick pauses. His story is nearing its end. He has to say goodbye to her, again.

“We looked at each other, standing across from each other on the driveway. Since then, I’ve come up with a hundred different things I could’ve said that night. I just stood there with my mouth a little open and nothing coming out.” Chloe starts to tear up again. Her own memories brought back by Nick’s story. She remembers why she had to guard her heart, why she was afraid of love, and why she still had to be.

“Maria opened her car door, took a step inside, and then stopped. With one foot in her car and one on the driveway she turned her head to look at me. I don’t remember what she sounds like anymore and I can barely remember what she looks like without looking at a picture. But I remember that moment. I can see her face clearly and I can hear her voice as if she were whispering in my ear right now. There were tears coming down from her eyes and her lips were begging. She said, “Stop me Nick.” And I… I…”

“Wait Nick. I want to say something before you go on.” Chloe turns around so Nick can see her face.

“I don’t want any misunderstandings. I like this.” She squeezes his hands.

“I like all of this.” She runs her hand through his hair.

“And I want to keep doing this…” She kisses his lips.

“But I’m not Maria.”

“I know…”

“And I will never be.”

“I’m not trying to…”

“Listen Nick, I’ve served my time in that cage. I’ve lost so much of myself.”

“I won’t put you…”

“I refuse to be left with my finger in the dam! Not again… not ever…”

“I understand.” Nick kisses her forehead and pulls her close to him. Chloe settles down and folds his arms around her like a blanket.

“The sun had set and the young man, heavy with regret, had made his way back through the big city. The same road that brought him there, was now leading him back to the lake. His mind was burdened, thinking mostly of all the time wasted. He counted every thump of a hoof, willing his horse faster with his boot heels. It was now nighttime and only several hours till sun’s return.

He felt no pain. He thirsted no more. The only hunger was in his heart and in his eyes, pining to see once again the young woman he abandoned hastily. Never would he leave her again. As soon as he reached her, he promised to the moon, he would always keep her by his side till death disrupts their earthly destiny.

Now only a couple hours away from her and with a whole night for him to travel, it seemed that time was on his side. But remember that this is not a fairy tale…

He urged his horse faster and faster, the diligent beast selflessly obeying. But it could go no faster. After a long week of neglect and malnourishment, it was content to be on the move again, driving its body through cool breezes and dusty dirt. The bridle digging into its jaw and the boot heels pounding against its bruised flesh were no bother. This was its last day. With muscles spent, lungs swollen with fire, and eyes that no longer saw the endless road ahead, the loyal stallion slowed to a stop, its master unwilling but understanding. His horse would go no farther.

The young man stepped on to the ground as his dying friend knelt, surrendering to the blue glow of the moon. He listened as it breathed in deep, exhale, and then silence. He was now on his own.

There was no time to mourn. His wife waited.

He ran a great distance, counting each step and willing himself to run faster. He was too far on foot, but could not concede. He had to make it.

Slowly the flat grasslands on either side of the path sprouted up into tall trees. Still running, he found himself surrounded by familiar woods. He rode for hours past these woods just days earlier. The straight path would eventually curve around them and towards the lake on the other side. He knew for certain now that he would never make it. The road was too long. He slowed down and continued to walk defeated.

An hour of walking, cursing his mistakes, and praying to the blackened sky above him, the young man had all but yielded when suddenly he saw to right of him a trail that split off of the main path and into the woods. He stopped and stood staring at the gaping hole. It was pitch black and a cold wind was blowing from it, but he saw not too far on the trail, a yellow-orange dot; a hopeful flame in the dark deep.

It didn’t take long to reach it. The trail ended in a small clearing, and across were two more trails that lead further into the woods. The dot was revealed to be a campfire and close to it, soaking in its warmth, sat an old man cloaked in furs, like a hunter. On his face he bore cavernous wrinkles, the scars of a long life spent, and a wise beard. He didn’t startle when the young man appeared before him; a dirty, haggard figure cast out of the dark trail. He looked up as the young man began to speak.

“Old one, there’s a lake on the other side of these woods and I must get there before sunrise. Will either of these trails lead me there?”

“Both ways will bring you to the lake. The one on the left will bring you there sooner than the other, but the one on the right is safer and easier to follow, though it’ll take longer.”

“I don’t have time. I’ll go to the left. Lend me your lantern.”

“But it is too dark and the trial has many turns. Even with a lantern you’re bound to get lost. You can stay here till the morning then I’ll take you through.”

“Can you not hear, old man?! I’ve no time! You will lead me through the trail on the left, now!”

The old man stood up, leaning on a tall staff. He picked up a lantern and lit it.

“You are stubborn… and your haste will be your death. But let us go.”

And so they left the fire and comfort of the clearing. The old man leading the young man, the lantern held high before them.”

“So Nick… did you stop her?” Chloe knows the answer. There’s a reason why she’s lying here in Nick’s bed, in Nick’s arms. There’s a reason she isn’t Maria. She still hopes that the story will end differently. That the girl doesn’t get into the car, because the boy stops her. She doesn’t disappear into the darkness of the cracked paved road; her license plate, white and gleaming, shrinking and shining less and less the farther from the driveway, the closer to the blackened horizon. But she remembers what she asked for. She says goodbye to Maria.

“She backed out of the driveway and I ran to her window. I told her that I loved her. She smiled and said that she knew and that that wasn’t the problem. I understood… and as I watched her drive away I read, for the first time, what was on her license plate. In the middle of the numbers were three letters: M L N. I sometimes wonder if she ever noticed it too.”

“The ground was rough. The young man tripped several times. The lantern was barely enough to light their way, though the old man traveled with ease, barely leaning on his walking staff. He had not lied. There were many turns and at times the young man felt they had passed the same tree twice, that he tripped on the same rock before, walked into the same low-hanging branch. He cursed at the old man, doubting his knowledge of the trial. The old man was not bothered.

The sky faded, from black to a dark blue. They no longer needed the lantern, they could see far ahead of them. The young man began to panic. Soon the sky would burn hues of red and orange. Time was running out.

He implored the old man to hurry. Urging him on like he did his horse. He didn’t notice that the trail had straightened out and that less then a mile away was the exit out of the woods.

When he did notice, he started to weep. His long odyssey almost over, he took off running, leaving the old man behind. He would thank him after he reclaimed his beloved.

His sore feet pounded against the gravelly ground. Little bits of blue light found cracks through the trees that shaded the narrow trail, lighting his way. He could smell the lake as he got closer; the smell of wood and leaves, fresh water and mist that filled the house every morning. He longed to see the house. He ran faster.

As he got even closer, he heard the roar of the waterfall calling to him. He could see the exit, just yards away. He could see the water.

He pushed the last few feet and was finally out of the woods…”

“He made it?” Audrey asks like a little girl in a movie theatre, asking her mom if the daddy fish will ever find the baby fish.

“Well, can I finish the story?” Henry scolds her with an eyebrow raised. Audrey mouths the word ‘sorry’, rolling her eyes.

“I hope he gets to her in time. He deserves it after all he went through.” Audrey doesn’t believe what she said.  She doesn’t want a happy ending. She doesn’t think he deserves it. She wants the girl to disappear into the fiery light of the rising sun. She asked for a ghost story.

“So, can I continue? Uninterrupted?” Henry gives her another look. It’s a warning.

“You may.”

Henry sighs, pulls Audrey closer, holding her tighter, then continues:

“The young man was frozen on his feet. The blue sky streaked with amber rays. He felt one side of his body warming, the other left in the cold. All around him were crickets and birds, concerting as they changed guards. But he could only hear one thing: the old man’s words in the clearing, “your haste will be your death.”

“The water before him was not the lake. It was the thunderous river, rolling violently to what appeared to be the edge of the world. The young man walked towards it and fell to his knees. He was atop the waterfall. The peaceful waters of the lake, the house that once was his home, he could see down below.

He turned and saw the old man standing behind him. He no longer had the walking staff or the lantern.

“I thought you told me that trail led to the lake!” He stood up and confronted the old man.

“Can you not see young man? There is the lake down below.” He pointed over the edge. “There is your house… and there is your wife.”

The young man turned quickly in the direction he was pointing. There she was standing beside the house, facing the road. He saw only her back, but in his mind he thought of her beautiful face and the long brown locks that framed it. But his thoughts were soon interrupted. He remembered the clearing.

“I didn’t mention my house… or my wife…” He heard no reply and turned to look at the old man.

He felt the warmth on his back as he stared into the cold empty where the old man was just standing. He saw no one.

Suddenly, all he could hear was the deafening thunder of the waterfall. He remembered the stories. The indigenous warriors, the sullen outcasts, and the hopeless brokenhearted. All of them stood on the same spot. All of them leaped to their death, their bodies beaten against the rock face and shattered against the hard surface of the lake’s water.

He looked down at his wife, still standing with her back to the waterfall. He waved his arms high above his head, but she never turned. He yelled her name as loud as he could, but he was too far and the river too loud for her to hear.

He stared longingly at her while he thought of his choices. He could turn back, find the clearing, and take the other trail. Maybe she would wait longer. If not, he would look everywhere for her, never giving up until they were reunited. Or he could jump. He might survive, though he feared a life without her.

At the edge he stood, never taking his eyes off of her as she waited by the road. His heart burdened with the dilemma, he wished in vain that he had never left her. Suddenly the sun lifted its head from beneath the ground, the blinding beams shooting all around. The bright light shined, without mercy, onto the young man, straight into his eyes. And as it became harder to see her, his choice became more clear…

The end.”

“Would you have jumped? If it were me standing by the road?” Audrey whispers the question as she lies in Henry’s strong embrace. Her eyes close and she falls asleep before he answers.

“I can’t say I would.” Henry doesn’t realize she can’t hear. “But I would search for you everywhere.”

1st photo:http://www.flickr.com/photos/marielle/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

2nd photo:http://www.flickr.com/photos/cloud10/ / CC BY 2.0

3rd photo:http://www.flickr.com/photos/stroudlisa/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

eight- Lovers Displaced

“Good job Hurt!” An important looking man in a very expensive suit shakes Henry’s hand heartily. He’s the vice president of Modern Real, the burgeoning real estate development company that Henry works for as Director of Operations for their Portland building, Modern Pearl. Here on one of the top floors of Modern Tower, the company’s headquarters located in the bright center of New York City, Henry wipes his head dry of sweat, having just finished a long, lively, dance of seduction in front of a table of executives tasked with deciding his Modern future.
“Have a seat in the next room. We just need to go over a few things. We’ll call you in as soon as we’re ready.” The distinguished looking man gently escorts Henry out of the board room, smiling as he shuts the double-doors. There is a gathering of lounge chairs near the windows. Henry loosens his tie and sits back on the one that looks softest. From this throne he looks out into the world— the center of the world. His eyes reflect the lights, all of the lights: the buildings, the neon, the cars, and the people. But all he sees is his own reflection in the glass of the spotless window. His face, tired but still handsome, looking back at him with a glint of pride. He takes a deep breath, and after a few touches with his thumb, brings his phone to his ear.

“Hi Audrey, I’m waiting for them to make their decision now…” He laughs. “Well did you?” Another laugh. “I told you so…” Silence. “Are you smoking? Don’t lie to me…” He sighs. “I thought we talked about this. I don’t want you smoking anymore.” He grips the armrest with his free hand. “I don’t care if it’s just one. Just stop.” He hears movement in the next room and fixes his tie with his free hand. “Sorry Aud’, I didn’t hear what you just said. Did you get my e-mail with the list?” He smiles condescendingly. “I don’t like what you have in your kitchen. Throw all the food out, and buy what’s on the list. Trust me, you’ll feel a difference within a week! Hold on hun…”
The double doors open wide, the vice president walks through and over to Henry, who stands from the chair holding the phone behind his back.
“Congratulations Hurt! We’re giving you the Pearl. Follow me back inside and we’ll make it official.” The man walks back through the doors, leaving Henry alone to end his call.
“Yeah, Audrey? I got it! I gotta run but I’ll call you tomorrow morning from JFK. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight Henry! Congratulations! I’m so proud of you…” Audrey hears her phone beep in her ears. The call was ended after she said Henry. She sighs then smiles at the young man sitting next to her.
“I’m sorry, that was my boyfriend. He just got promoted!” She drops her cigarette on the ground next to her bare feet.
“That’s ok. Do you want another?” The young man holds out an open pack. The two are sitting on the steps outside Audrey’s apartment. It’s the same young man from the East Coast back visiting his girlfriend, Audrey’s upstairs neighbor.
“I can’t, my boyfriend... Thanks though.”
“I understand.” He nods understandingly, thinking about his girlfriend upstairs and if it’s been enough time since their fight for him to go back to the apartment and apologize. Across the parking lot, another resident is by the bins throwing away glass bottles, one by one. The clanging is loud and sharp.
“Well, I think I’m gonna go back up. I got a lot of begging and groveling to do and it’s getting late. Nice meeting you, Audrey.”
“Good luck! Just tell her she’s beautiful, it always works.” She gives him a thumbs-up as he walks into the building and disappears up the stairs. She hears a door open and close and looks up at the window above her bedroom. A light goes on, a lamp light, making yellow-orange streaks out of the dark that filled the room for the past half-hour. She sees shadows; two blobs slow dancing around the white ceiling. They merge together into one fluid blob, flickering like a flame. The light goes off and Audrey is alone. She picks her phone up from the ground beside her, and dials her friend.

“Hey Nick! What are you doing? I’m watching the Big Bear crawl across the sky.” She switches ears. “That sounds nice. You haven’t painted since Maria… What is it of?” She laughs. “Oh, c’mon! Tell me!” She growls. “Fine. I’ll wait till it’s finished. Hey Nick?” She pauses. “I’m sorry nothing happened between you and Chloe. If she doesn’t know how amazing you are then she doesn’t deserve to know! Okay Nick?”

“Okay Audrey. Besides, even if she was interested in me, it would have been impossible with Sophie around all the time. I know she wants us to hook up but she’s involuntarily cock-blocking me. But I guess it doesn’t matter. Nothing happened and nothing will.” He listens. “Thanks and don’t worry, I’ve already moved on.” He laughs. “You too. See you tomorrow?” He sighs. “It’s alright. I can handle the shop alone tomorrow. Have fun with Henry. See you Thursday. Sleep tight.”

Nick is sitting on the edge of his bed. He looks at his phone, presses the red button and continues to stare. His thumb scrolls to a name and hovers above it, wanting to press it. He pulls away and throws the phone across the bed. With a groan, he lays back keeping his eyes on the canvas in the corner of the room. He told Audrey he had been painting. The brush in his hand is fresh out of its packaging. He can’t understand why he lied, why he lied last week about his attraction to Chloe, and why he felt he needed to keep lying about it. He groans and closes his eyes.
Neon lines streak across the black lids; a map of plane routes, arcing trajectories delivering one person to another; a map of phone calls linking one lover to another in a country where long distance isn’t so long a distance.
He opens his eyes to a clean white ceiling. In his head is a story. His hand, the brush, reaches up towards the giant canvas. He doesn’t reach, but begins to paint anyway. The brush swirls and sweeps, leaving permanent stains in the invisible air.
A path, a trail of dirt, surrounded by tall trees. Flowers of different shapes and colors lining the sides of the trail like light-strips lining the aisles of movie theatres; they guide the way. A woman walking away, down the path, frozen mid-step. She’s dressed for hiking, the way someone who doesn’t normally go hiking would dress for hiking. A man stands beside her, a hand around her elbow. His face looks confident, yet pleading. He is the reason they’re both frozen in this moment. Nick closes his eyes again, but only for a few seconds.
When he looks at the ceiling again, his creation has come to life. The man has convinced the woman to turn around and she follows him off the trail into a clearing canopied by the tall trees. They are no longer bound by a trail, guiding them one-way and keeping them from crossing the lines that confine. They are alone. No one sees what they do next. But they remember. A kiss concealed in the Tillamook Trail.
Nick grabs his phone and sits up. The ceiling fades back to a clean white. It doesn’t take long to scroll through the phonebook. He presses the green button.

“Chloe Clarimonde.” Her phone is turned off.
Chloe lies under her blanket naked, reading what’s left of a chapter before she closes the book for the day. It’s a novella about a girl who loves a man who doesn’t love her… as much. She finishes the chapter, catches a tear running down her cheek, and then turns out the light. Her eyes close and in her head a thought, one that returns every night before she goes to bed: why am I so afraid of love?

All across America, lights go out and people fall asleep. From New York to Portland, ocean to ocean, a vast darkness ever growing. The neon lines stretching across the lovelorn land flicker off one by one, I love you by I love you.

Chloe drifts into sleep and instead of a dream, she wakes up inside a memory. The beach at midnight; a scene of blue and white. Her sister asleep in bed; the allergy medicines ensured she would stay asleep. Did he get the note slipped under the heavy hotel door? Will he kiss me like he did in the clearing? Her answers come on time, holding in his right hand the folded note he found by his door. She runs to his arms.
Here on the edge of this lovelorn land, this country of young lovers displaced. Here where the end of the vast darkness meets the beginning of another vast darkness, they make love for the first time. The voices of the waves echoing their secret across the wide reach of the Pacific.



Photo: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dactylx/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

seven- On the Willamette

“I’m driving up to Seattle tomorrow! I’m getting out of work early so I can meet Henry at Sea-Tac when his flight lands at around 8 p.m. So…”

“No.” Nick shakes his head slowly. Through his dark Balorama sunglasses, he watches her slip away from him. The girl he loves, sitting next to him on a bench on the waterfront, her almond eyes glowing, her perfect skin shining in the Northwestern sun, her hair like brown waves sweeping across her face angelic. He stares longingly at her pouting lips of strawberry red.

“Oh c’mon Nick! I still haven’t fixed the flat tire on Sally!” She renamed her beat-up ’67 Mustang “Sally” so that people would stop asking why she named it “Ladybug”. At one point, the car used to be a fading red with black and brown rust spots all around. The name came before the new paint, a very royal blue.

“I need my truck this weekend. I’m going to the coast. Wait, why are you picking him up from the airport?”

“He’s in San Diego right now for some management conference. The company he works for flew him out last minute. He thinks they’re going to promote him to general manager! Anyway, they bought him a ticket to Sea-Tac because it was cheaper and it made me sad thinking about him alone on the train back to Portland.”

Nick zips up his track jacket, runs a hand through his thick black hair, and crosses his arms almost defensively. The sun starts to set, painting the sky amber; a breathtaking sight from their seat overlooking the Willamette River. If this were his last day, Nick wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He gazes across the river, remembering all the sunsets he witnessed from that very bench. He thinks of his childhood, his mom, and walking with her down the waterfront to see the cherry blossoms filling the trees pink and white. It is a memory as beautiful as it is spiritual and the most vivid of its kind. Indeed if this were his last day, Nick would be content to surrender his life here as the sun sets over the Willamette with visions surrounding of perfect cherry blossoms. But instead of his life, it’s something more important that he has to surrender here.

“Audrey… I’ll come over tomorrow morning with a new tire.”

“Nick! You’re amazing!” Audrey jumps to her feet, clapping her hands in applause of Nick’s gesture. Her heart abounds with excitement for her Henry, who is only a day away. The smile on her face, long stored away like a winter coat she outgrew in high school, finally fits again, naturally. And her name, her first name, the name her mother left her, she lay at the feet of her father the last time they spoke. It was years past, when she was still in college and she experienced for the first time the painful consequence of love given selflessly and without conditions. There are certain incontestable duties required of a father. He failed her when she needed him most, taking the side of men over his little girl… But that’s another story. Now, her name suits her again; a name that implies happiness, it resonates charm and graceful beauty. Dylan is a name written on the label of a box recently brought up to the attic. Audrey has come out of hiding.

Sitting back down, her thoughts rewind to Nick’s previous answer. Her smile closes and she bites her bottom lip. Her eyes squint prepared to inquire.

“You’re going to the coast? What’s her name?”

“Why does it have to be a girl? I could be going with Tim or Jake or Tim and Jake!” Nick crosses his arms tighter, clearly in defense.

“Tim and Jake are your only friends besides me. Tim is working overtime this weekend so he can buy a new bike and Jake is driving down to Humboldt State for a reunion thing. So… what’s her name?” Audrey grins, having caught Nick in a lie.

“Alright, it’s a girl. Well, it’s two girls.” Nick sees Audrey’s eyes and mouth open wide like big O’s, her eyebrows rise like tents. He laughs.
“Hey, take it easy! Sophie Clarimonde. She’s a good friend of mine. We went to Portland State together. She got a job on the East Coast after graduation, but we stay in touch. Anyway, she’s in town for two weeks.”

“And you guys are going to the coast? Sounds pretty romantic…” Audrey smiles clownishly, though a part of her feels strange, almost jealous. She shakes her head at the thought and continues to interrogate Nick.
“Is she pretty? Did you guys go out in college? You did didn’t you? Has she come back to rekindle the flame?”

“Yes, very pretty. No. No. No. We were on line at Pine State Biscuits yesterday and we started talking about what she should do before going back east. She mentioned hiking in Tillamook, so I suggested that we leave Saturday morning, stop in Tillamook for some cheese and light hiking, then head to Seaside and hike to the Head. She thought it was a great idea.”

“I see. But who’s the other girl?” Audrey has great memory.

“It’s her sister. She lives here in Portland and whenever Sophie flies in she tries to hook us up. I only like her as a friend. She’s great, but we’re not each other’s types.” Nick blushes, knowing that he just lied. Sophie’s sister is gorgeous, successful, and confident. Though he’d give all of himself to be with Audrey, he’d give a couple of limbs to be with Sophie’s sister. Most straight men would give a couple of limbs to be with Sophie’s sister. She can make the most courteous gentlemen stay seated when she enters a room.

“Are you satisfied? Any more questions?” Nick sneers teasingly.

“I’m quite satisfied.” They both chuckle.

“Actually, I do have another question! Your friend Sophie, her name sounds so familiar. Is she famous?” Again, Audrey has great memory, though it’s not always accurate.

“Sophie? Yeah. She works for a fashion magazine in New York, flies all over the place and tells people how to dress. She also has a fashion blog with thousands of followers. I think she’s been on T.V. a few times too. But it’s not Sophie you’re thinking of. You’re thinking of her sister.”

“Wait, don’t tell me!” Audrey closes her eyes and focuses on the name, Clarimonde. She realizes that she hears it everyday, every morning on the television.

“She’s the weathergirl!” Audrey digs deeper. “On channel 8!” She can see her now, standing in front of America, pointing out the giant clouds and suns attacking major cities. She can see the name, a blur, right before Clarimonde, stretched across the bottom of the screen. In her mind she takes a napkin to the screen where the name is hidden behind the blurry cloud. Suddenly it’s all clear.

“Chloe! Chloe Clarimonde! Damn, Nick! How can you not like her? I’d sleep with her and I’m only half joking!” Audrey feels it again, that strange feeling, but like before it goes away as quickly as it came.

“Well, I will on Saturday! Well, I’ll sleep next to her… in the room next to her’s!” Nick laughs. He notices Audrey doesn’t.

“I love you Audrey…” Nick releases the words, holding back the passion and the feeling that inspired them. He’s afraid of losing her completely to Henry, and doesn't want to push her with his confession.

“Aw, I love you too Nick! And I love Henry, and this view! I’m so loving life right now! Oh god Nick! I’m becoming one of those high-on-life hippies hanging around the Square. Are you gonna stop being friends with me?” Audrey gives Nick a pleading look. He looks past her, down the waterfront, at the cherry trees glowing in the new night, the white blossoms waving like thousands of white flags.

“No Audrey, I will always be your friend.”

Photo: Cherry blossoms in Tom McCall Waterfront Park, Portland, Oregon. Attributed to flickr useratul666

six- Anthroponymy

When asked whom she named her daughter after, Janie Carlisle would reply that she named her after Dylan Thomas. She would then explain that ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’ is her favorite villanelle and that the third and fourth stanzas remind her of every man she ever loved. The truth is that Janie named her daughter after Bob Dylan and though she only likes one of his songs, it brings her to tears every time she hears it. The first time she heard ‘It ain’t me babe’, she was sitting on the hood of her boyfriend’s dad’s Stingray, wearing a yellow bow around her ponytail and a letterman around her homecoming dress. While her best friends were off becoming women on flatbeds and motel beds all across town, she was getting her heart broken to a soundtrack. It was as if her boyfriend called up the radio station and requested the song to help him make his point; that he couldn’t be what she hoped he could be for her.

Inside The Original on Southwest 6th Avenue and Oak Street, tourists come from all corners of the earth to try the Voodoo Doughnut Burger. The main attraction of the self-proclaimed “dinerant”, an amalgamation of the words diner and restaurant, it consists of a juicy beef patty with cheddar cheese on a glazed Voodoo Doughnut, served best with a sack of fries and a potent local microbrew. Nine people are having this meal. One of them is Henry.

“That looks disgustingly delicious…” Chloe is in a trance, watching Henry consume such an unhealthy meal and knowing how little it will affect his fit physique.
“It tastes better than your soup. What is that?” Henry looks out through the glass windows as he talks to her.
“I don’t remember… chicken vegetable something. So, why are we having lunch here instead of up in my apartment like we always do? Do you think we have time? There’s a handicap bathroom behind the bar. I can hold myself up on the railing...” Chloe’s hand massages Henry’s knee under the table.
“We can’t fuck around anymore,” Henry declares decisively, still looking out into the street. Across the street, both members of a teenage couple are yelling at each other over a cryptic text-message from one’s ex. Henry thinks of the song ‘Your Ex-Lover is dead’ by Stars. He looks at Chloe and almost chokes on his beer.
“What are you in love Henry? Are you fucking with me?! We go through this every month, every time a cute little girl with glasses and “something about her” actually falls for your bullshit. We both know that it’s me you call when you find out that that “something” is just baggage and a gag-reflex.”
“It’s none of your goddamn business how I feel about her. Besides, this is about you not her. I can’t sleep with you anymore. You’re bitter and pretentious, you smell like cigarettes and taste like vodka. Sorry babe, but I’m done.” Henry stands up and drops a twenty on the table. He leans forward, kisses Chloe’s cheek then turns for the door.
“Wait Henry, we both know she won’t last a couple of weeks. There’s nothing this bitch can do to you that I can’t do better and longer! And you can tell whatever her name is that I’m only letting her have you for now.”
Henry stops and walks back to Chloe. He takes her hand and looks her in the eyes. “Listen to me very carefully, babe. First of all, go fuck yourself. She’s not a bitch and I don’t fucking belong to you. Second of all, her name is Audrey.”

Francis Carlisle wanted to name his daughter Mirabelle after his mother. His wife, Janie, decided that Mirabelle was a cow’s name and chose Audrey instead. On their first date, Frank took Janie to see Two for the Road, starring Audrey Hepburn and Albert Finney. It was Janie’s first exposure to Audrey Hepburn and she was in awe. Days later she went to a free screening of Breakfast at Tiffany’s in the basement of a local church. She left the church that night a different woman than the one that walked in earlier. It was Holly Golightly that changed her forever.
Janie met Frank only months after Homecoming and had become cold and increasingly cynical. Frank would have succeeded in thawing her heart completely had it not been for Holly Golightly. Walking home from the church that night she determined to live like Holly. She would put on a show for those around her and protect what she had left inside. She would forget about the ridiculous notion of love and instead focus her efforts on status and security. Lucky for Janie, Francis Carlisle was born of old money. And though she was merely using him, Frank truly loved her.
It might have all turned out drastically different if Janie had actually seen the ending to Breakfast at Tiffany’s. That night, in the church basement, a fuse blew and everyone was guided out with candles and flashlights. Janie never saw the ending. She never saw Holly run after Paul in the rain. She never saw Holly run into his arms and submit to love, proving Paul’s belief that people do fall in love and people do belong to each other.
She never watched the movie again until a few days before she went into labor. Frank had bought her a VHS of the film for her birthday. Alone in bed with a pint of strawberry ice cream, she watched the film in its entirety and was drowning in tears when it ended.
Janie had lived her life wrong. She felt as devastated as she did when she learned that Santa Claus wasn’t real, and that her high school sweetheart didn’t love her. She no longer had a reason for closing her heart off and could no longer justify withholding love from her husband. She resolved to start anew with Frank, and with her daughter due in a matter of days. She didn’t know that it was too late.
Janie died within an hour after giving birth to her second chance, a healthy baby girl named Audrey Dylan Carlisle.

five- Little Red Ribbons

“We’re all made of stardust.”
Dylan stares up at the sky, bluish-black and star-studded.

“Fuck, you’re in love… And it’s only been a week!”
Nick watches her from the open screen door, counting the polka dots on her cream sundress as she sits back on his motel pool lawn chair. His eyes fall from the frills of the dress, down her smooth shining legs and to her cute ankles. He smiles as she pushes the red satin pumps off her feet, careful not to ruin the little red ribbons tied at the heels.

“I really like him, but you’re not listening to me. We’re all made of stardust, star stuff…”
“Alright, I’m listening! Go on.” Nick walks over to the lawn chair as Dylan swings her feet slowly, running the bottoms of her feet against the moist grass beneath. On the speakers placed near the open screen door, Ryan Adams croons “I got a really good heart, I just can’t catch a break, if I could I’d treat you like you wanted me too, I promise…”

“Galaxies and planets, the earth and the trees and animals, you and me Nick! We wouldn’t be here if a star or sun didn’t explode or implode, I forget which one. Every element you can find inside us came from the heart of a dying star and when it died what was left, the dust, came together randomly and created planets and life! We’re all made of stardust…” Inside her is a feeling brighter and warmer than any she’s ever felt.

Dylan’s heart has gone supernova. Years later she’ll remember this moment and how she felt truly happy.

“Nick, I think you’re right… I think I’m fucked.” Dylan grabs Nick’s hand and locks onto his eyes. “Promise me you’ll beat him up if we break up,” she says with a little laugh.
“Cross my heart…,” Nick says sincerely. Inside him is a feeling brighter and warmer than any he’s ever felt. His heart has gone supernova. Years later he’ll remember this moment and how painful it was.

Above them, the stars take cover behind heavy rain-clouds. Portland, like Seattle, is infamous for how much it rains. Portlanders don’t tan. They rust.

The sky slowly fills with clouds, and the stars have all gone to hiding. Simultaneously, the fat clouds burst open, releasing countless raindrops like paratroopers. The fall is long and suicidal, but each drop mindlessly dives headfirst onto a blade of grass, a car windshield, a stray dog’s thirsty tongue.

Inside the second floor of his apartment, Henry turns off his T.V. and listens to the rain falling on his balcony. He walks downstairs with a John Hiatt record in one hand and a martini in the other and heads straight to the record player in his living room. He lays the record down and drops the needle. Seconds later “It Feels Like Rain” comes on the surround.

Just before he sits down, Henry hears what sounds like a knock. He turns the music down a little, and hears the knocking coming from the front door. He finishes the martini in one breath, loosens his tie, and unbuttons the top button of his white dress shirt. He had just gotten home from work a half hour ago and was not expecting or desiring any company.

As he reaches the door, he feels his phone vibrate in his left pocket. He pulls it out and is informed that he has a text message. He presses a button and sees that it’s from Dylan. He smiles, but doesn’t read it. He shuts his phone off and opens the door.

“Hello Henry, I’m wet and I need a drink…” Standing at his door in a short red trench coat, is a beautiful woman in her late twenties. With her wet dirty-blonde hair and wet statuesque legs, she looks like she took a shower with her coat on then put on a pair of black open toed stilettos. Her face is made up as if it belongs next to a bottle of expensive vodka on a page in GQ. Amazingly, her makeup isn’t running.

“Hello Chloe. It’s late,” Henry grins.

“C’mon Henry, It’s cold out here and I should really get this wet coat off.” Chloe gives Henry a familiar look. It’s both pleading and demanding.

“Why don’t you give me your coat and head on up to my bedroom. You know where the towels are.” Henry watches Chloe walk up the stairs, slowly opening her coat then letting it slip off her shoulders down her back and onto the steps. She reaches the second floor then makes a right towards the bedroom. Henry can hear her stilettos walking straight to the foot of his bed and then silence.

Pulling off his tie, he walks into the kitchen and grabs a tumbler from the dishwasher. He fills it with Wild Turkey then pulls the phone out of his pocket. He opens Dylan’s message and takes a sip while he reads it. He smiles, sets the phone down on the counter, and downs the rest of the whiskey.

Upstairs, Chloe lies waiting in the middle of Henry’s king-sized bed, her stilettos standing guard at the foot of the bed next to a wet towel. Wrapped around her stunning body is a black lace slip that’s mostly see-through. Henry opens the door and stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. With his head tilted slightly, he examines the black lace slip, his eyes immediately and purposefully drawn to a single spot. On the slip, right between Chloe’s beautifully crafted breasts, a little red ribbon looking back at Henry as if to say, “Open your present.” He steps into the room and closes the door behind him.

four- Henry

Outside the Thursday Tattoo, Dylan smokes a cigarette, something she does rarely. She isn’t stressed. She’s excited. Nick is inside getting ready to close the shop and talking with the last customer, who is still looking at his new tattoo in the mirror. He’s the reason Dylan is smoking. His name is Henry.

Henry graduated from U of Oregon in Eugene, where he played Strong Safety for the Ducks. The cheerleaders had a nickname and a chant for all the players. They didn’t have a hard time coming up with one for Henry. His last name is Hurt. There are nights when he walks around his apartment, carrying a football, when he can still hear the girls yelling, “Henry Bring On The Hurt! Henry Bring On The Hurt!”
He moved to Portland after graduating and was hired to manage a Co-op in the Pearl District. He lives in a modern two floor apartment off Belmont on the other side of the river, in Southeast Portland. Inside his garage is a blue Challenger with black racing stripes and a black Ducati 1098, though he usually takes his bicycle to work. Henry was raised healthy and strong and is amazingly in better shape now than he was in college.
He grew up in a small town in Washington, played all kinds of sports, and was in Church every Sunday morning with his idyllic family. His first kiss was with Cinthia Orman in the eighth grade. He and Cindy used to sneak out of their houses at night and meet under the baseball field bleachers to make out and wish they were older. Henry was sure he was going to marry her… until he went to high school and realized that Cinthia Orman was not one in a million and was in fact just one of a hundred pretty girls in school. With this epiphany came a string of girlfriends and hookups that carried him through college. To be cliché, he could write a book.
Now, though still enjoying the occasional one night stand, Henry is older and starting to get tired of sleeping around. He often thinks about little Cindy and wonders where she is now and what would have happened if they went steady through high school. He wonders who it will be that’ll make him want to settle… to commit. He thinks about it more whenever there’s a girl in his bed and all he knows about her is her first name and natural hair color. He stopped wondering two minutes after he walked into the Thursday Tattoo; the moment he met Dylan…

“Henry Hurt?” Dylan read from the post it on the desk. “You’re on time.”
“I guess I am,” Henry grinned. He noticed her blushing and felt a few butterflies himself. She was pretty but also interesting. There was something unforgettable about her.
“So Henry Hurt, what can I get you?”
“Black ink, Old English font, middle of my shoulders right under my neck, I want the words Sine Qua Non.”
“Without which not…” Dylan replied, now very interested in the handsome yuppie in front of her.
Henry just smiled and nodded.

Nick had heard the exchange and cut in, “Sine Qua Non? Let’s go see how big you want the tattoo and we can get started.” Dylan stared at Henry as Nick rushed him to one of the stations. She watched him take off his shirt and saw that he had other tattoos: the number 45 on his right shoulder and the name Evelyn wrapped around his bicep. Her heart sank when she saw the name. This surprised her. She couldn’t remember the last time she was infatuated with a guy she just met. She decided that she needed a cigarette.
“Nick, I’m going down the hill, do you need anything?”
“Green Tea with honey, hunny,” he smiled. “I’ll give you the money when you come back.”
“I’ll be back in a little bit.” Dylan grabbed her coat and walked out. Nick and
Henry watched her as she left and noticed each other looking. A sudden thought crossed Nick’s mind. It worried him, but he was never one to worry. As quickly as it came, the thought left Nick’s mind.

Dylan took her time walking to the store down the hill. She took even more time walking back up. She was hoping that Henry would be gone by the time she came back. He made her blush. He made her feel shy.
She set the tea on Nick’s desk and he thanked her without looking up from Henry’s back. The tattoo was almost done. Dylan had almost forgotten about the cigarettes when the sight of Henry’s beautifully sculpted torso reminded her…

Outside, Dylan smokes a cigarette down to the filter, the sun is setting slowly and the wind is warm. Nick and Henry exit the shop and Nick locks the door behind him.
“I need to rush, thanks for the tea!” Nick kisses Dylan on the cheek and starts to jog down the hill towards the bus stop. He doesn’t realize till weeks later the mistake he made. He left Henry alone with Dylan.

“Can I ask you a question Henry?” Dylan is ready to have her hopes dashed. “I saw that you have other tattoos…”
“Evelyn is the name of my hometown.” Henry is used to people asking him about that tattoo. “Now, can I ask you a question?”
Dylan is embarrassed but relieved by his answer. “You may.”
“Are you hungry?”

Henry and Dylan take their time walking down the hill towards the bus stop. When they get there they see the bus standing, as if waiting for them. They look at the bus then at each other and continue walking. They walk and talk down Burnside, across the bridge, all the way downtown, where they find a small Chinese restaurant off the Waterfront. The sun sets completely and the wind blows a little colder. There is that smell in the air, when the seasons are changing and the feeling that something new is coming.