"Why?"
"Because that's what people do. They remind each other."
He picked up a glass and started polishing it.
"You've got instincts, Bunny. Good ones. The way you watched that man, the way you noticed he was watching you—that's not something you learn. That's something you have."
The bar was dark when we finished.
Matt locked the doors and turned off the lights, and we stood in the quiet for a moment, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city.
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Same time tomorrow."
"You'll do better."
"How do you know?"
"Because you'll have practice. Because you'll be less afraid. Because you'll remember that you've done this before."
"What if I haven't?"
"Then you'll pretend. And pretending will become doing. And doing will become knowing."
He walked to the door and held it open.
"Come on. I'll walk you to your apartment."
"You don't have to."
"I know. But I will."
I followed him into the night, and the door closed behind us, and the bar was dark and empty and waiting for tomorrow.
The man at the end of the bar.
His eyes.
His words.
"You've got that look."
What look?
The look of someone who's been lost?
The look of someone who's looking for something they're never going to find?
Maybe he was right.
Maybe I was lost.
Maybe I was looking for something I'd never find.
But I was still here.
Still standing.
