Our previous conversation is still available on the screen. My fingers fly across the keyboard.
JulesLikesToSwim: I think I’m ready to talk.
***
When AverageJoeGuy doesn’t respond right away, I get antsy. Sometimes I forget that not every single person is chronically online like me, just waiting dead eyed in front of their devices for little notifications to light up their phones or their brains.
The dopamine hit my childhood could never give me. But I digress.
The day is fading as the sun sets outside my window. I know because I have the curtains open.
My palms and my fingers tingle. I scratch at the skin of my hands, the little skin tags now growing in number on my arm.
The antsiness builds in the base of my back, compelling me to jump right out of my skin.
What is this feeling? It’s not like the usual anxiety I experience.
Instead of freezing, I’m agitated. Activated.
I think I want to actually . . . go outside?
I can’t remember the last time I actually sought out the sun or the moon or the stars. Or the sea, as it were.
I get an idea.
I’m going to go for a walk.
I haven’t gone on a leisurely walk for years now, maybe an entire decade. The last time I remember taking a walk was when my dad was still alive. He took me to the state fair. We walked around and around the grounds for hours.
He played one of those games with the plastic cups and the Ping-Pong balls. Won me a goldfish and then told me he was glad all that beer pong practice had paid off.
I had that goldfish forever, even after my father died. And then . . .
I’m already pulling on my jacket and squishing my sockless feet into my sneakers, which I had to harvest from deep in the wilderness of my coat closet.
I’m dressed and opening the door before I can even comprehend that I’m doing it.
I’m going for a walk!
My natural inclination is to walk up to George and order a coffee, but he isn’t at the shop. So, I keep moving.
I keep my legs moving past the sidewalks, past the people. I even look around a bit at the dusky night sky. The fallen light of day is broken up throughout the street by street lamps and lights hanging from the buildings on the road. I hug my arms to my chest. Breathe in deep.
Something gets caught in my throat.
Cough.
I’m coughing now. Shit.
I hunch over, hacking my guts out. I put my flat palm against my sternum and try to relax my throat. Maybe I have some allergies. No big deal.
I haven’t gone too far, at least a few blocks.
But when I look up, I’m not surprised where I find myself.
***
I wander through the lobby of Mack’s apartment building, not for the first time. The copy of Moby Dick is still on the table. I wish they’d replace it with something better, a little more optimistic, maybe a little more fun. But then I think about all the similar kinds of stories, and I can’t think of a single one that ends happily.
The Little Mermaid, perhaps? Technically, it has a happy ending if you go by the Disney version.
Except, I always wondered why Ariel would ever give up her fins?
Since I’m already in the building, I approach the elevator. As usual, no one’s around, and I love this about Mac’s building. How did he get so lucky?
I press the number five and watch as the steel doors slide closed. But just as I’m about to stand in blissful solitude, a hand breaks through the space, and the door halts, then slides back open.
My heartbeat quickens. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Being locked in such close proximity with a stranger is jarring, especially after so many years of avoiding it. The person walks in. A woman, presumably. She’s got long blonde hair, and she’s petite, wearing a yellow sundress. The gold earrings on her ears are designer. I still have an eye for that kind of thing, even after being out of the modeling business for so long. She has money.
When she sees me, she gives a cute little smile.
“Thanks for waiting,” she says.
My eyes shift to either side of the elevator. Is there any other way out of here? Of course not. So, I just nod.
The woman goes to touch the button but then pulls her hand back. “Oh. I see we’re headed to the same floor.”
