A month passes. I've gone on a date with a girl named Destiny. We ate and had a couple drinks, then I asked her if her real name was Destiny. She tells me of course it is with her face all twisted. I couldn't tell if she was angry, intrigued, or disgusted. A few more drinks and the night goes on like that. What I mean is that we talk about our parents, where we went to school, and what we do to make money. Her hand sat on the table in the lamplight looking like an invitation. I took it and she let me. It had been a while since I had felt somebody else's skin on mine.
I remember her ***** blonde, shoulder length hair and her smooth, light skin like a doll in a toy shop window. Her frame from the front and the back was nice. It was the first thing I noticed as I walked up to her from behind when we met at the restaurant. I didn't scare her, if that's what you were thinking. What I did was politely put my hand on her shoulder and ask her if she was indeed Destiny. The whole engagement was lacking any true spontaneity anyway. The dots were all connected beforehand. I took that as a bad sign. I guess she did too.
Claire continued to text me, but I let them sit there, buzzing away on my night stand. I hadn't heard from Hane once after we had spent the afternoon together and talked about Claire. I didn't put much thought into not hearing from Hane. I only did when I heard from Claire. That was a diseased connection I never wished to be tied to. Part of me wanted to answer, to solve things, to fix things, to make everything better, but my vision of perfection were petty illusions of grandeur. There were other lives to worry about. Other souls to carry through a field of poppies to a dock by a river with a ******* boat bobbing alongside it.
After a fury of texts the night before from Claire, Hane calls me the next day while I'm on my break at work. I'm surprised to see his name on the screen of my phone. It's been a month. My first thought is that he knows about Claire texting me at night, so I brace myself for anything as I head outside to the smoking deck. The sun blinds me as I walk outside. They're used to the fluorescents overhead nine hours a day, not natural sunlight. I've missed his call, so I call him back, slightly hoping he doesn't pick up. He does.
"Yo," he says, "I just called you."
"I'm at work."
"Oh. I'll call you later then."
"We're good," I tell him, trying to cut him off before he hangs up, "I'm on a break. We're good."
"Oh, cool. How much longer you work for?"
"Couple hours. I should be off around 3:30. Where you at?" I ask. I hesitate to light a cigarette for fear of missing anything he may say.
"I'm in the city looking around for a job."
"Jesus," I say, "I never thought I'd hear you say that."
"Thanks," he laughs.
"You just rarely ever have a job."
He laughs lightly again and coughs. There's a long silence where we both wait for the other to say something. After a beat, I ask, "What's up?"
"Claire had to get going."
"What do you mean?"
"She wasn't happy anymore and she had to go. She left."
"****," I exhale, "I'm sorry to hear that, man."
"There's something not right about it."
"I'm off work around 3:30. Where you going to be around then?"
"Don't know. I'll be in the city, probably. I'm just walking around."
"I'll come get you wherever you are. I've got a car."
"Alright," Hane says, distracted. I can tell he's looking at something that has nothing to do with what we're talking about.
"I'll call," I tell him. I fix a cigarette in my mouth and light it. "Make sure to pick up when I call, alright?"
"Yeah," he says, "Yeah."