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I walk out of my apartment and feel the sunshine on my face. It’s a sensation I’ve been missing for what feels like forever, and I’ll take it in whatever increments I can. This stint will be brief; the forecast shows that winter will be back next week, and I can see clouds rolling in. It’s risky, but I decide to walk instead of taking the bus. I pull my headphones up over my ears, and I’m too much in the zone, because I don’t even see him coming and he knocks me flat on my ass.
This is what I get for not taking the bus.
“I am so, so sorry,” a man says.
“It’s my fault,” I tell him, “I wasn’t paying—” Then, I’m stopped cold and the knot in my throat almost strangles me, because it wasn’t just any guy that knocked me out. It was him.
“Hey, Ruby,” he says with one of those perfect smiles.
Everything sinks. I’ve thought about this exact scenario (well maybe not exact, I don’t normally eat shit when it plays out in my head) so many times, and each time, I always know the perfect thing to say. It ends well. Sometimes, it ends better than that. My inability to speak or even breathe makes me feel like out here, in reality, it won’t be anything like that.
“Hi,” is all I manage to say.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“Um, other than getting laid out on 4thAvenue? I have been…okay.”
“Okay? That’s it?” he asks.
I’m not sure what he wants, exactly. I shrug and add, “Um, yeah. I moved. And I am…getting the professional help I so desperately need, so there's that. Actually, I am on my way to therapy right now.”
“Your own therapist though, right? Not mine?”
Yikes. “Um, yeah, definitely not. Sorry about that. That was…super weird.”
“You kept it interesting,” he says.
“Yeah, I’m…sorry about that, too.”
“My mom and my sister love reading your articles. I think they like you more than me now.”
“Well, tell them I said thanks.” All my instincts are screaming at me to leave at this point, but instead, I ask, “How have you been?”
“I don’t know, Ruby. I read it, too—the article you sent me, and all the other ones. I was so mad at you. But also, I was…impressed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that already. You know, after I read it, I went to your place, but you didn’t live there anymore. And then I just kind of figured it was for the best. I didn’t want to text or call. It didn’t feel right. Your landlord kept the door, though.”
“He’d have been a fool not to. It was a good door.” What a thing to say.
“Do you want to get coffee or something?” he asks.
“Um, I can’t right now. I need to get to therapy.”
“Right, you said that already. I’ll let you get to it.”
“But maybe some other time?” I offer.
He smiles, but doesn’t answer the question, he just leaves it hanging here. “Take care, Ruby.”
“You too, Jake.”
Shit.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his arm. He turns back towards me and eyes my hand as if it were on fire. I realize that I shouldn’t be touching him. I quickly draw it away. “I just want you to know that I’m really fucking sorry—”
“You said that already.”
