His words drifted like smoke through the back of my mind. I couldn’t help but feel like he was referencing when I slipped and the man caught me. But how would he know? There was no one else on the street that night and the witnesses on the bus saw nothing. The bus driver had been so frantic to stop the bus, he remembered only his own panic.
But I remembered. I remembered everything and there was something strange about that man. There was something about him I didn’t know, something I wanted to know.
And when I wanted something, I usually got it. I was a woman with a stubborn streak a mile long. It was only a matter of time before I figured out who he was and what this vision really meant.
* * *
I was standing beside the door waiting when I heard the knock. Bursting forward, I yanked it open. “Get in here!” I said as Frankie stepped inside.
“Gheesh, what’s the rush?” she asked, but added a little speed to her step. “Did you almost die again?” she demanded, spinning to face me. Her curls were wild, most likely from the wind, and her cheeks were red.
“Frankie!” I gasped. “No, I didn’t almost die again.”
She pulled off her red coat and threw it on the end of the couch, then sat down in the middle. She was dressed in a pair of dark denim jeans, a fitted T-shirt, and a bright blue blazer over top. The chunky black necklace around her neck was the gift I’d given her for Christmas this past year.
“Why are you still wearing that uniform?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at my waitress outfit.
“Huh?” I asked, looking down. “I guess I forgot to change.”
“You smell like the diner.”
“Who cares?” I said. “I had another vision,” I told her excitedly.
“That’s like an almost everyday occurrence, Pipe. Why would you call me over here for that?”
“I had it before. The night I touched the guy who got hit by the bus,”
“So you’re having visions now without having to touch people?” she asked, intrigued.
I shook my head. “No. I did touch someone. Someone else.”
“Tell me more,” she urged.
I explained about the guy in the diner, the things he said, about getting a ride home, and how the visions were exactly the same. When I finished I stopped my pacing and looked at Frankie who was still sitting on the couch.
“You asked a stranger for a ride home?” she asked, lifting her sculpted eyebrow.
“Yes. Who cares about that? Did you hear what I said about the vision?”
“Well, I care. I don’t really want to have to ID your body at the morgue.” She sniffed. But then she said, “So what do you think the vision means?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned. I couldn’t figure it out. “I was hoping you could help me.”
“I’ll help you if you take off that stinky uniform,” she said, standing up and pulling me along to my bedroom. I stood there while she opened up the door to the tiniest closet known to man and peered in. Her blond head reappeared moments later, and she said “Your wardrobe is pathetic.”
I rolled my eyes. We had this conversation hundreds of times. “I’m a struggling college student. I don’t have money for clothes.”
“Girl, you gotta get your priorities straight. I know you want to be some hero doctor, but you gotta look the part. Dying people don’t want to look at a fugly mess.”
I laughed. But then I thought about the man on the street. I wondered if he was able to see me before he died. Suddenly, it did seem important to look pretty.
Frankie must’ve noticed the change in me because she sighed. “It’s not that bad in here. We can find something.”
“Frankie. Will you help me?” I said, plopping down on the end of my twin-size bed.
She appeared again, this time with a scarf around her neck and several articles of clothing draped over her arms. “Of course I will; you know that.” She thrust a pair of jeans at me and a long-sleeved white T-shirt.
I stood up and stepped into the jeans, pulling them up under my waitress skirt. “Well, what I want you to do is kinda illegal.”
