Last night I’m sitting with Dori on a pedestrian lane, on a park bench, a stone’s throw from her old secondary school (high school in American-speak). She’s telling me how weird it is we are sitting there on this bench, the only bench on this lane; that she used to sit on for four years, with her friends and talk and chatting and laughing and gossiping. I’m listening and thinking about my own high school experience. How long ago was that? What’s changed? Who’s still back there…living the same lives that they were when I was still there, struggling with adolescence and drugs and alcohol and sex and girls and wondering if this was really what I was going to amount to in my life. But then I remember.
I got out. I left. I changed my life. For the better.
She’s looking at me. Those eyes. We go in to kiss and it feels good. I’m aware of someone walking up the pedestrian lane, but I don’t look who strolls past. But they don’t stroll. It’s shuffling. I can hear the shoes scraping along the pavement, dirt crunching and moving beneath the feet, exchanging a mutual touch with the hard stone beneath. I ignore the moment, thinking only of the kiss, but the sound still touches me somewhere, somewhere back in my mind. Something I should be listening to. Something I know I need to listen to. But I’m not. I still have that fear of someone walking behind me, that I have to stop and let them pass, and watch them walk ahead. Its not a fear. Its…something else. Like I’ve known it before. Like I was a spy in a past life, during the Cold War, and I felt the blade enter my back as I walked, irresponsive to the sound of footsteps behind me. Maybe I was a bad spy. I don’t know.
I won’t ever know.
Now I see the person. It’s a woman. She’s standing, back turned to us, with two bags in her hand. Dori is talking now, and I train my attention on her. She’s speaking about the differences between our high schools, why she feels high school was the best point in her life. Its because she never left her home. She never left for college. She’s been stuck in this city her whole life. A sobering thought. I think back to the debauchery of my college experience. And smile. The memories come through, jagged, but still there, still real, like I was there yesterday. She will never understand the feelings. The first day. When I turned away from my mother and sister, choking back tears, but wanting them to go, to leave me alone. I wandered around the dorms, watching people but not saying anything, still not understanding that everyone was in the same position as I. Alone. And then I met a Russian, chain smoking in a place clearly marked ‘Non-Smoking’. And I lit up too, and began speaking with him, me stumbling over my words, he with his thick accent and racist appeal to the masses. It was only later I understood he was a bad guy. But he introduced me to a friend, Nick, one of the best.
I guess the bad sometimes do good.
Now I’m speaking to Dori but I can’t remember about what. You can be sure it was about life and what the point of all it means. I tend to do that. But now my eyes are drawn to the woman. She’s sitting down the lane, maybe twenty feet away. Just sitting there on a ledge. I can’t see her face.
She begins to talk, in a low voice that booms. Dori stops and listens. I stop too. Did you hear that, she asks. She’s speaking broken English. But that’s not what I heard. I heard the words ‘reszeg’ (drunk) and ‘absolutemont’. Which are both Hungarian words (the latter was totally stolen). She just spoke Hungarian, I’m saying. No, that was English, Dori is trying to convince me.
What a sweet girl. But I’m right.
Now the woman stands, and I think she’s talking on a cell phone. I see her face for the first time, and it looks normal. Middle-age, but nothing too craggily. Completely, utterly normal. Nothing seems to be wrong. She just said she was absolutely drunk. Which would make sense if she’s talking to herself on a deserted pedestrian lane. But its not deserted, I’m thinking. We’re here. Watching her. Listening to her.
I don’t know it yet, but she’s about to put on a show.
She starts to walk away, with her hand next to her face. Yes, definitely a cell phone. Just talking with one of her middle-aged friends. And then she turns around.
There’s no phone.
I can see her face. Something has changed. It’s contorted and her burning eyes are staring right at the lovely innocent couple sitting on the bench. Uh oh.
When she starts to speak, a hollow voice that does not seem to come from her throat, I automatically know something is wrong. I’m the only one watching her. Dori has been staring at me the whole time, probably wondering how she got so lucky (No Taryn, I’m not vain). But her face changes instantly when she hears the voice. Something bad is happening. And I can’t understand a word.
What is it?
Shh! She shushes me.
I hate getting shushed.
The woman is speaking, staring right at us, at me, I can feel her stare, and she’s gesticulating with her fist. Where the phone should have been. But no. This bitch is crazy. Dori’s face isn’t helping the situation either. She hasn’t turned around to look at the woman, not yet, but I can see on her face that it’s not good. Whatever she’s saying it scares her. I don’t see that look too often.
Finally the woman says her share, turns around abruptly, and walks off. She turns around again way up the lane, but now its not clear whether she’s looking at us anymore. She’s speaking again. To someone. I fight the urge to yell after her, ‘Speak up!’, but the look on Dori’s face diffuses that urge.
What? What did she say?
She said…and she looks back, behind her. She said…
What? Tell me!
She turns back, and looks at me, eyes glinting in the light thrown down from the lamp above us. I won’t ever forget her look.
She said she would kill the both of us, and that our blood would spray across the pavement, and the streets would run with our blood.
I’m staring at her like she just socked me in the nuts. WHAT?! Are you sure?
Yes. She’s very sure. I can see it.
We stayed there on the bench for some time, but the thought never left my mind. Why? Why would she say those things?
And will I see her again?
I got out. I left. I changed my life. For the better.
She’s looking at me. Those eyes. We go in to kiss and it feels good. I’m aware of someone walking up the pedestrian lane, but I don’t look who strolls past. But they don’t stroll. It’s shuffling. I can hear the shoes scraping along the pavement, dirt crunching and moving beneath the feet, exchanging a mutual touch with the hard stone beneath. I ignore the moment, thinking only of the kiss, but the sound still touches me somewhere, somewhere back in my mind. Something I should be listening to. Something I know I need to listen to. But I’m not. I still have that fear of someone walking behind me, that I have to stop and let them pass, and watch them walk ahead. Its not a fear. Its…something else. Like I’ve known it before. Like I was a spy in a past life, during the Cold War, and I felt the blade enter my back as I walked, irresponsive to the sound of footsteps behind me. Maybe I was a bad spy. I don’t know.
I won’t ever know.
Now I see the person. It’s a woman. She’s standing, back turned to us, with two bags in her hand. Dori is talking now, and I train my attention on her. She’s speaking about the differences between our high schools, why she feels high school was the best point in her life. Its because she never left her home. She never left for college. She’s been stuck in this city her whole life. A sobering thought. I think back to the debauchery of my college experience. And smile. The memories come through, jagged, but still there, still real, like I was there yesterday. She will never understand the feelings. The first day. When I turned away from my mother and sister, choking back tears, but wanting them to go, to leave me alone. I wandered around the dorms, watching people but not saying anything, still not understanding that everyone was in the same position as I. Alone. And then I met a Russian, chain smoking in a place clearly marked ‘Non-Smoking’. And I lit up too, and began speaking with him, me stumbling over my words, he with his thick accent and racist appeal to the masses. It was only later I understood he was a bad guy. But he introduced me to a friend, Nick, one of the best.
I guess the bad sometimes do good.
Now I’m speaking to Dori but I can’t remember about what. You can be sure it was about life and what the point of all it means. I tend to do that. But now my eyes are drawn to the woman. She’s sitting down the lane, maybe twenty feet away. Just sitting there on a ledge. I can’t see her face.
She begins to talk, in a low voice that booms. Dori stops and listens. I stop too. Did you hear that, she asks. She’s speaking broken English. But that’s not what I heard. I heard the words ‘reszeg’ (drunk) and ‘absolutemont’. Which are both Hungarian words (the latter was totally stolen). She just spoke Hungarian, I’m saying. No, that was English, Dori is trying to convince me.
What a sweet girl. But I’m right.
Now the woman stands, and I think she’s talking on a cell phone. I see her face for the first time, and it looks normal. Middle-age, but nothing too craggily. Completely, utterly normal. Nothing seems to be wrong. She just said she was absolutely drunk. Which would make sense if she’s talking to herself on a deserted pedestrian lane. But its not deserted, I’m thinking. We’re here. Watching her. Listening to her.
I don’t know it yet, but she’s about to put on a show.
She starts to walk away, with her hand next to her face. Yes, definitely a cell phone. Just talking with one of her middle-aged friends. And then she turns around.
There’s no phone.
I can see her face. Something has changed. It’s contorted and her burning eyes are staring right at the lovely innocent couple sitting on the bench. Uh oh.
When she starts to speak, a hollow voice that does not seem to come from her throat, I automatically know something is wrong. I’m the only one watching her. Dori has been staring at me the whole time, probably wondering how she got so lucky (No Taryn, I’m not vain). But her face changes instantly when she hears the voice. Something bad is happening. And I can’t understand a word.
What is it?
Shh! She shushes me.
I hate getting shushed.
The woman is speaking, staring right at us, at me, I can feel her stare, and she’s gesticulating with her fist. Where the phone should have been. But no. This bitch is crazy. Dori’s face isn’t helping the situation either. She hasn’t turned around to look at the woman, not yet, but I can see on her face that it’s not good. Whatever she’s saying it scares her. I don’t see that look too often.
Finally the woman says her share, turns around abruptly, and walks off. She turns around again way up the lane, but now its not clear whether she’s looking at us anymore. She’s speaking again. To someone. I fight the urge to yell after her, ‘Speak up!’, but the look on Dori’s face diffuses that urge.
What? What did she say?
She said…and she looks back, behind her. She said…
What? Tell me!
She turns back, and looks at me, eyes glinting in the light thrown down from the lamp above us. I won’t ever forget her look.
She said she would kill the both of us, and that our blood would spray across the pavement, and the streets would run with our blood.
I’m staring at her like she just socked me in the nuts. WHAT?! Are you sure?
Yes. She’s very sure. I can see it.
We stayed there on the bench for some time, but the thought never left my mind. Why? Why would she say those things?
And will I see her again?
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