Abradamus

Debris of liquor and gum barbed the sidewalk. A winking little Irishman and a broad-shouldered bear were spoiled patrons, drawn across isles of glass. I had to arrive nowhere and would do it with clean shoes. Somewhere, the myth of a walkable city was still idealized, dreamed of through travel-mags. Don’t they know you can walk anywhere? Cautiously, strident. It’s the stink that flips your gut; stomachable cities should be the envy of our designs. We bleed so much for their prestige and precision and personality, professionalism. I’ve run out of P’s.

Olive green lobby. Knees bobbed and clicked and waited, a man spoke to his phone. He sounded angry, but the slow to smoulder type; the type that doesn’t really matter till it absolutely does. I had some height on him. I didn’t dodge eye contact and he didn’t give any. No one else in the room considered whether or not I could kick his ass. The front desk startled me out of the black-and-blue fantasies. Down the hall, third on the right. She would be running late, but only by a little. I never did mind. It wasn’t sloth, it was a dozen dedications affirmed from behind one desk by the same cramped, cackling keys. Theirs was a laughter I could hear without envy. It was for me, after all.

“Hello,” I said, hardly louder than the creak of the door.

“Good morning,” she answered. “I’ll just need one minute, I’m sort of playing catch-up right now. How are you? Have a seat. There was a heap of traffic on the way in, by the bridge. I hope you didn’t come in that way.”

I had bussed in, an hour and a half early. “Oh, no. I didn’t see that. Luckily.” I didn’t care.

“Yup, a real mess.” She slid a binder down into her desk and straightened her glasses, then leaned back in her chair. A chin dipped and a grin rode it. “So… here we are. Eager?”

“Always,” I joked. She would pretend to not know the real answer. “Yeah, it’s been a long week.”

“Then let’s start with Sunday.”

“Yeah, well, Sunday was good, I think. Lemme see, I took a long walk. It was windy. My earbuds kept disconnecting, so I sort of got fed up and just marched home. Then… there was some chicken in the fridge, so I made a little sandwich. With mayo. Cheese.”

“Did you eat dinner with your dad?”

“My dad - oh, no. No, he wasn’t there.”

“Empty house?”

“Uh, no. No, there were some people downstairs. My sister, some of her friends.”

“You didn’t want to eat with them?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“But sometimes…”

“Sometimes it’s good to remind myself, yeah. Yeah, I dunno. I also kinda felt like my breath was a punch full of nicotine, so I figured I’d give them their space. Wasn’t a full relapse, or anything. Just felt like I had to breathe easy, y’know?”

“Was that also a part of your walk?”

The words lingered, like injustice, then a repercussion of silence buried us both. She knew the answer. She was just tickling her cards, giggling at the falsity of a stalemate. I was able to look into her eyes, then. Brown, bright. They had a way of wrapping contempt in colour and regifting you the most banal of regrets.

“Guessing you wanna hear about Monday, next?”

“If you’re comfortable sharing.”

“I’ll try not to break down about it.”

“We can talk about something else, if you’d like?”

“Right, like the traffic by the bridge.”

“You’re upset with me.”

“You know I don’t like this part. Building up to what we wanna say. You, softly goading me and me pretending I’m content in taking things slow. We’ve done this enough now, haven’t we? Monday sucked. I slept most of Tuesday. Don’t really remember Wednesday or Thursday, and over the weekend I lifted some weights and hurt my arm so I stopped lifting weights and - I don’t know, slept, probably. Now we’re all caught up.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

Square one. Her affections and clemencies were cardboard. I had glimpsed silver through the glass once, beside strangers. It’s laughable when you can hold a receipt in your hands, guaranteeing compassion, but the fingers still shiver around it. Barren on green leather. This wasn’t embrace, but who ever believed nickels and dimes from the gas station register could buy the buzz of another's soul? She could tell I was getting bored, or impatient, or something uglier. I sensed she wanted to leave too.

“Admit it,” I said.

“Admit what?”

“I’m the one you least look forward to.”