The light turns to “walk”, and Connie – reckless, trusting Connie – steps forward into the intersection.
I move faster than my brain could process words. There’s an old white Ford F350 speeding around the corner, ignoring pedestrians, and I pull Connie into me and out of theway. I want to grab her face and check on her, make sure she was okay.
Instead, I ask, “Can’t you at least look both ways before crossing the fucking street?” Adrenaline courses through my veins, coupled with the fast-crashing fear that she could have been hurt, which makes the words come out in a snarl. She flinches, and I take a deep breath to try and calm down. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hung open in shock as she realizes what had almost happened.
“The light turned, and I thought, I…” She’s struggling for words when her eyes land on my hand still holding her arm. I let go, realizing I may have been holding on too tight when she starts massaging her elbow.
Yep, definitely too tight.
“Just because you’re a lawful good doesn’t mean you can just trust that everyone follows the rules. Most people can’t read your mind either. You have to be careful. You can’t trust people.”
Evidently, this is the wrong thing to say, because Connie’s eyes go sharp. “I know plenty about not being able to trust people, including what I’ve learned from you.”
She turns back toward the crosswalk and makes a big show of looking left and right before walking across.
“Shit,” I say following after her.
In a little convenience store with ridiculously overpriced mini travel essentials, I stay back as Connie goes right to the snack aisles.
I’m looking at a little stained glass suncatcher meant to hang from a car’s rearview mirror as Connie makes her way back over to me, her arms filled.
“Eric,” she says, like she’s about to ask for help. Neither of us see her belt loop snag on a hook of the spinning metal display case until the entire thing crashes to the floor, tchotchkes scattering everywhere.
“Oh shit,” she says as the cashier sighs at their own misfortune of being on this shift. “Sorry,” Connie tells her. “I’ll clean it up.” I can’t help but laugh at her. “Not a word.” She glares at me as I help her rehang the fallen keychains.
“I had one of these once,” I say. The words slip out, and I almost convince myself that I said them in my head and not out loud, except for the fact that Connie hesitates. She finds one in purple and green that has my name on it, and her fingers trace slowly along the stitching of her keychain victim.
“That was a long time ago, though,” she says as she pulls herself out of the memory she’s reliving. I wonder what her mind has done to that moment. How does she see it in the rearview? With rose colored glasses? Has it been preserved in honey, or worn by time and weather?
9 – Connie – Now
It’s quiet most of the way back to the hotel. We’re on a bridge over a river, the sun decidedly set behind the horizon, and in the dimming sunlight, I feel that magic spark. The transition from day to night, it’s like its own secret space. Untouchable.
I see the crosswalk, and I feel heat invade my cheeks. I didn’t need more reasons to be embarrassed in front of Eric, and then I had to go make a fool of myself in the store.
“You could talk, you know,” I say, emboldened. There’s so much I want to ask him, but I don’t want to be vulnerable first. Not this time.
“I talk plenty,” he counters. “You’re the one who has been icing me out.”
“I should have just had Ash come with me. I’d really rather not deal with this bullshit. I remember you, Eric. I remember you being open and communicative, at least in person.”
Eric shakes his head. He’s carrying the bags. Chivalrous, but he said it was because I’d likely trip and drop them, and then we’d have to go back to the store and buy more.
“Just because you have some regrets about the past…” Eric starts.
“You think you’re something to regret?” I interrupt him, but he ignores me.
“That’s no reason to get flattened by an F-350. I swear, Connie, there are other ways to deal with me.”
I am flabbergasted. Flustered. Utterly fucked in the head. We’re stopped at the crosswalk again, and I almost want to run across the street randomly (but safely) just to get back at him. Almost.
“Not everything is about you, Eric.”
“Isn’t it, though, Stardust?” He leans over me, a genuine smile playing with wickedness as my heart speeds up, his eyes half closed. Is he about to kiss me? He’s so close, our chests almost touching.
A car skids to a stop, and I whip my head forward. The light indicates that it’s our turn to cross, and I hastily make my way across, Eric by my side.
I don’t know what that was, but the sooner we’re separated by a wall, the better. I need to clear my head.
