And then I see the latecomer. I see him, but a full two seconds go by before I reallyseehim. I drop the shaker and it breaks, puffs of sugar go everywhere, all over the tiled floor and my shoes.
He’s got a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. A heavy black coat. And a Caribbean sea in his eyes.
It’s Asher.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Asher
WHEN I WALKinto the soda joint, I already know nothing will be the same.
That’s what it feels like when I see him. When I walk into that place with butterflies and hope. It’s like he’s materialized into another world, just some character in a dream. And sometimes, and really only a handful of times, he’s seemed exactly like that to me—a dream. A mirage. I’ve heard about that, you know, how desires of the body can make you see what you most want and it isn’t real. And what I most want has his back to me now. I take a seat and notice his curly brown hair has been trimmed recently, and his shoulders are hunched over something in front of him with a seriousness and a focus that belongs in a lab and not a soda counter.
He says something, still turned away, but I don’t listen. Then he turns, curious at my non-response. There’s shock on his face and —to my great relief— a flicker of happiness.
He drops what was in his hand. There’s a crash of glass and a white puff. Neither of us move for a few moments as if that white puff might set off an earthquake.
Then I stand. “God, I’m sorry, pal.” I walk around the counter to see the powdery glassy mess I caused. “Let me get that.”
He pushes up his glasses. “I’ll get it.”
I look around. “Is there a broom?”
“I said I’ll get it.”
I stand at the end of the counter, awkwardly, as he cleans up. I didn’t picture it going this way. I’m not sure how I pictured it going at all, really.
When his aunt said he wasn’t home, I had a moment. A moment where I imagined he was with someone else. A guy. A girl. Hands clasped at a movie. Lips pressed together in a dark Chrysler. Legs entwined in a warm bed. I suppose I’d just expected him to be there, in her house, waiting. Waiting for me. The horror of him with another was quickly replaced with shame. Shame that I’d thought he’d just be there, expecting me, and ready when I arrived. Of course not. Why would he be? What sort of hope, what sort of reason did I give him?
But I found him alone, after all.
I don’t speak, and he doesn’t speak until he’s got most of the powder off his shoes. Then, in a tone I can’t quite read, he says, “I need to close up and lock the doors.”
I sit down at the counter again and light a cigarette. I wait as he walks around, shutting off switches, the tinkling of a key ring as he goes to the front where there are lights and jingle bells.
It’s not the same. I can feel it between us each time he passes by me. It’s like a thread that isn’t broken but weak and tattered. The distance between us pulled it too tight, tested its strength, its resilience. And yet, it didn’t break.
I wonder how much more that weak and tattered thread can take.
When he’s done inside, we leave out of the back, and he’s got this huge key ring he flips through. He locks up and then we just walk down the street together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if we’ve never been apart at all. I relax a little. We walk in companionable silence for a bit. There’s something about his presence, about him walking next to me, that’s definitely different. I can’t put my finger on it. I look over at him, at the lock of curly dark hair that falls over his glasses and he brushes it away. My heart skips more than just a beat.
“What?” There’s a phantom of a smile on his lips.
“What’s what, pal?”
“You’re staring at me.”
I clear my throat. “Working at a soda fountain, huh?”
He nods. “It’s not too bad. Pretty easy work and my boss is nice.”
“Is he gonna dock your pay for that broken shaker?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think so. It was an accident.”
“If he does, let me know. I’ll cover it.”
He doesn’t reply. We walk on for a bit longer, the evening air brisk, and while the occasional pedestrian hurries past us, we’re not in a hurry at all. Just as leisurely as a walk on the beach.
