“What I want to know is: How did she know you were coming? How did she time it so perfectly? Was it a coordinated thing, or did she just get lucky?”
I glance at him, saying nothing.
My pager buzzes.
“And, like, what was she hoping was going to happen?” he goes on. “Did she really think being confronted by a naked, screaming stranger would generate a positive reaction? I seriously want to know what she was thinking. Do you ever wonder what’s going through their minds?”
“No.”
“But this lady had a dream, right? Like, she was hoping forsomething. And here’s the thing,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Here’s the real philosophical question: If she’d actually managed to get you alone for ten minutes, would she have been happy with the reality of you?”
“No.”
“Because I feel like what they really want is just, like, the fantasy, you know?”
My pager buzzes again.
I give myself another thirty seconds before I reach for it.
We’re crossing the city on foot because I’d wanted the chance to expel some of this latent energy I’m carrying. I don’t like to bring it home. I usually hit heavy weights or go for a run when I need to exorcise the excess emotional staticfrom my body, but there was no time for that tonight.
And the walk isn’t too bad.
Streetlamps emit golden light that seems to melt through the early darkness, rendering the streets dusky and indistinct. Pedestrians move through the night in various formations, dipping in and out of pools of light. Altogether, the feedback is relatively undramatic. I sense no general panic, no fury or violence, so I try to push it out, away from me, into a kind of insensible white noise. Crickets chorus through it all.
It’s been a relentlessly long day.
“I don’t know how you deal with it,” Kenji is saying. “The shit some people say to you is so weird I feel embarrassed even repeating it. If someone ever asked me for a vial of my spit I’d probably fight them.”
I raise an eyebrow at that.
“What?” he counters, defiant. “There’s some dark energy in a question like that. That’s a weird thing to ask for. Why would you want my spit? What are you going to do with my spit?” He hesitates. “You know what, ew, I don’t want to know.”
Kenji’s energy is a little edgy. Anxious.
He’s been managing spikes of frenetic agitation ever since Nazeera decided she’d be staying in town for an indefinite period of time. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself.
I decide to just let him talk.
Kenji was the one who insisted we take a detour after leaving Hugo’s house. He claimed there was a new dumplingplace he wanted to try. He assured me Ella was going to love it. He promised we’d get take-out and go straight home. He said it would be a nice surprise for her, that she deserved to try something new after being stuck in the house for so long.
I know when I’m being manipulated.
But I relented because it’s true. Because I’m sure Ella would love to try something new after being stuck in the house for so long.
“So?” Kenji prompts. “Should we go incognito?”
I shake my head. There’s always an introduction of risk when we can’t see each other; I don’t like losing one of my senses. “Not yet,” I tell him. “It’s dark enough for now, and the streets aren’t too crowded at the moment. I’ll wait until we reach the restaurant.”
My pager buzzes.
Buzzes again.
I’ve just decided to give myself another thirty seconds when we come to a sudden stop.
“Okay,” says Kenji, frowning at street signs. “I think we’re here.”
“Where?”
