“I’ll live.” The cash draw dings open. He takes out a $100 bill and holds it out to me. “Here.”
I look down at it, then back up to his face. “No sexual favors then?”
I can see his jaw clench and his nostrils flare as he sucks in a frustrated breath.
He shakes the note again.
I smirk and snatch it from him. “Are we gonna do this dance again tomorrow?”
“Seven-thirty.” Is all he says then turns away from me to walk into the backroom.
“Are you actually gonna tell me what to do?” I ask, following him. “Cause I can’t just keep guessing.”
“Seven-thirty,” he repeats, walking back past me.
I sigh, and take down my brother's plaid jacket from where it’s hanging on an open locker door. It drowns me, making me feel smaller than I actually am.
I pick up my skateboard and head out.
At the front door, I stop and turn back to Tek who’s sitting back at his station, flicking through his phone. “See ya tomorrow, old man.”
He doesn’t rise to the bait this time. He doesn’t even look up. The rejection stings, and I snarl in his direction.
As I reach for the handle, Tek’s client pushes open the door and I’m hit with the smell of cold cigarette smoke. “You headin' out?”
“Yeah, The Emerald Dragon is callin’ my name.”
“Best Chinese between Seattle and the Canadian border,” he says, patting me on the shoulder before shrugging off his coat.
I nod goodbye and let the door close behind me. Then I’m quickly jogging over the zebra crossing in front of the neighboring store and pushing through the double doors painted with red and gold.
It smells like garlic and ginger, and my stomach growls the second I step inside. It reminds me of Bali, but also not quite because there’s no galangal and coconut milk thrown into the mix.
The menu is big with way too many options, just like every other Asian restaurant I’ve ever been to. Ordering for myself is easy; chicken chow mienalwaysfor the win. Then, without thinking, I add something else. Fried rice because everyone eats it, even brooding and angry thirty-four year old tattoo artists.
Ten minutes later I’m walking back across the street, my board in one hand and the takeout bag in the other.
Before opening the door I can already see that Tek isn’t on the shop floor, which actually makes it easier.
Tek’s client looks up when I enter but I press my finger to my lips to shush him. He nods and places his attention back on his phone.
Creeping to the desk I take out the fried rice and place it where Tek can’t miss it. I don’t leave a note or an explanation why,because I'm fucked if I know why I’m doing this. He doesn’t deserve it with how he’s spoken to me the past two days, but here I am, doing it anyway.
Stepping back, I have a strange moment of contemplation.
I don’t want to leave and go back to the apartment just to eat on my own, yet the alternative is even more pathetic. Even so, it takes a lot for me to make my way back to the exit and not just pull up a chair and start chowing down right here.
Back on the street, the frigid night air doesn’t affect me, even though I wish it would.
It doesn’t distract me from the loneliness, or shock the heavy feeling of abandonment I’ve been carrying around in my guts since I arrived here out into the ether. It compounds them.
I drop my board and kick off as fast as I can.
Broadrock’s main street is only small but the lights are sweltering.
The wheels rattle over every crack in the sidewalk. Sometimes the sound is a high click, sometimes it’s more of a hollow thud. There’s no rhythm to it and it jars in my head.
With the wind rushing against me, I unzip Eden’s jacket and let it billow out behind me as I sail home. Except it’s not home. Notmyhome. I don’t have one of them.
