“Things are terrible right now.” He ducked down to look at me.“But there’ve been bad things before, people just didn’t know about it like we do. This is, like, one of the first generations where we know everything that’s happening everywhere. That’s not meant to feel good. How could it? To know this much at once.”
I met his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Sure. That observation’ll cost you five hundred dollars—how would you like to pay?”
“In animal stickers from Rite Aid.”
“I actually do have some notebooks that could use some sparkly monkeys on them.”
I laughed. I decided the weird, tense moment between us at the bar was nothing.
“Did I really get drunk and piss on your shoe?” I said.
He surveyed me strangely. “Yeah. It was a lot of pee too. You really don’t remember?”
I shook my head. The wind picked up. My hair blew into my mouth. Tristan grabbed the strand and wrapped it behind my ear. It was an empty, utilitarian gesture, but my body reacted with heat. The sensation kindled a memory in me: those first weeks in Jay’s dorm, the quiet electricity of his hand running absently up and down my thigh, like playing an instrument.
I stood, stumbling. “I’m supposed to be somewhere!”
“Oh… kay. You need a ride? I parked at the theater.”
I had plans to see Rah. “No. I’ll get the bus.”
“Okay. Thanks for coming today.”
He hugged me. I didn’t know what to do with my arms. I brought them loosely around his back. A trace of cologne on his collarbone: the woods after it’s rained, but from a bottle. Afraid I was hanging on too long, I let my arms fall.
Rah never let me come over, so we often rendezvoused at the restaurant. I felt invincible in my non-work clothes. What I did off the clock had no bearing on what I did on it. I lived in separate, parallel timelines. Inone, I had mayonnaise in my hair. But in the other, I was bent over a bun shipment with Rah’s hand over my mouth.
He pulled up his jeans, which hung off him like clown pants, leaning down to kiss me. I used to hate the taste of cigarettes in his mouth, but now it made me feel close to him, like the decisions he made about his body were also mine.
“You hear about Stevie?” he asked.
I pulled my top back on. “No. What?”
“He got locked up again. They not letting him out this time.”
“Jesus.”
“Stabbed some nigga at his other job.”
Stevie was one of the dishwashers. We didn’t speak much. He was always quiet, passive.
“That’s awful.”
Rah shrugged. “It is what it is.”
The storage room door swung open. It was Leigh: five feet, a teakettle whistling steam. Her honey-blond hair was in a lopsided bun. I wanted to take a piece of toilet paper and wipe away the glob of glue on her eyelid holding her fake lashes to it.
“Y’all getting on my last nerve.” Her eyes cut to me. “You not even on the clock.”
“I’m leaving.”
Leigh turned to Rah. “Get back upstairs.”
Rah muttered, shouldering past her.
On the way out, she caught my elbow. Her grip was strong. She was only three years older than me, but she had two kids. She seemed so much older.
