original_lavi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
original_lavi) wrote2009-03-25 02:18 am
original_lavi) wrote2009-03-25 02:18 am
Entry tags:
Punctuality (written March 2009)
I am obscenely happy about this story.
I was anxious about it, of course; the only thing I truly liked was the climax; but I was anxious about the majority of it in the middle, which I thought might be vague and pointless building-up which did nothing; I was (justifiably) anxious about the ending, which I thought was totally inappropriate and trite and not at all doing anything to address the main issues of the story. I'm still going to rewrite it and lots of bits, I have feedback which I have not yet incoporated, I'm only changed some typos and wording here and there.
But my professor was extremely complimentary about it, and he is not usually one to go overboard with compliments, etc.; and I mean to work on this story until I'm ready to submit it somewhere. :)
SO! Concrit, yeah, bring it all on. I know lots of things need lots of tweaking...if you want me to send the Word file to you so you can make comments/corrections throughout, I'll totally do it. :)
Punctuality
Thirteen minutes past seven, Shannon picked up her bag and left.
She turned right, away from the metro station, and walked down the crowded downtown street. The Friday evening was packed with voices, exhaust, and people pushing past without looking at her. She turned right, away from them, then left and right again, seeking the most unfamiliar streets, until she knew she was in a part of town she shouldn't be in, not alone and at that time and especially with a dead cell phone in her bag. Yet her feet kept walking, and she did not look back. Eventually she would come out on the other side, because everything was limited and had an end.
Loitering boys in oversized T-shirts and shorts stared at her as she passed, but she kept her heels clicking on the middle of the sidewalk, never missing a beat. A car slowed down beside her, those inside calling. She did not look at them. When she reached the end of the block, she ducked into a tiny convenience store.
It was especially bright inside, as they were in these areas, the windows struggling for a balance between visibility and lottery and cigarette ads. Shannon moved past the two rows of canned vegetables and just-add-water meals, to the coolers, and picked out a beer without looking at the label. She did look at the cashier as she set it down, harder than she meant to. He seemed about her age, dressed in a ragged T-shirt and equally worn jeans, his hair in short dark dreadlocks and a small scar beside his nose. He didn’t card her, and she hadn’t expected him to.
His eyes traveled deliberately down her short frilly dress with its black and red pattern, and Shannon was not offended. She was not dressed for patronizing this convenience store – or any, for that matter. It occurred to her again how unwise it was for her to be here alone with no means of communication or real idea of how to get back – but the more pressing issue was probably how she did not care.
When he pushed her change back across the counter, she held the beer out toward him. Catching on, he picked up a cigarette lighter from a plastic bin offering them on sale, and with a quick skilled movement, popped the top off.
Shannon turned away, leaning back against the counter as she drank the beer, neither sipping nor gulping. She wished there were a seat; now that she had stopped walking, she could feel her feet.
“Big party tonight?”
It was the first thing he had said to her. Shannon turned her head to look back. “No.” She considered leaving it at that, but even when he had looked her up and down it hadn’t seemed leering, and she had no one else to talk to. “There was going to be a dinner.”
“Stood you up?” The words were offered neutrally, without a suggestive smirk implying either typical inference.
She shook her head, gazing at a selection of ramen. “No. Probably not.” He would have shown up twenty, twenty-five minutes past, just like every other time. She had accepted that long ago and decided his tardiness was not personal or offensive. It was, in fact, quite a minor flaw. She had not yet thought about why tonight it was suddenly unbearable, or what the consequences would be of her standing him up.
Shannon took another long drink of the beer, then looked more intently at the boy. He was not unattractive; his brown eyes seemed nice. “What’s your name?”
“T.J.”
“I’m Shannon.” She held out her hand, and he shook it after a slight hesitation. “Is there anywhere I could sit down? Just for a little bit.”
He stepped away from the counter, indicating the small space around him. “There’s another chair here.”
She walked around, through the swinging half-door, and settled the tarnished folding chair down before the cigarette cases. Pulling her foot up over her knee, she rubbed at her ankle for a moment, then began to tug at the buckle. T.J. watched, leaning away from her, as she dropped both spindly shoes onto the wooden floor and massaged her red feet. The skin before her toes was starting to blister.
“Where are you from?” he asked at last.
“Uh – around Studewood.”
“Oh. Long way.”
“I didn’t walk from there. Just Bellaire.”
“On those things?” His voice had had a neutral, impersonal coolness before, but now an incredulous note entered. “Why?”
Her lips twisted, and she kept her eyes on her toes, pressing her thumbs into her sole. “Do you live around here?”
“Yeah, just a couple blocks away.”
Can I come home with you, she nearly asked, and bit her tongue in dismay. She couldn’t start acting so crazy. As a deterrent against further imprudent behavior, she tilted the beer up and took three swallows, draining it.
He eyed the empty bottle. “Do you want another?”
Shannon fished through her bag, finally pulling out a five. “Get yourself one too.”
“Nah.” He waved the money away, but she pushed it forward with a sudden aggressiveness, and he complied, accepting the bill as he stepped past her. He returned with two beers, but only rang up one on the register and handed her change to her before snapping the tops off both. They touched the wet glass together and drank.
“So where were you headed?”
Shannon shrugged, wishing she had an answer.
“Really? No place? Just wanted a walk through nice ol’ Montrose looking like that?”
Conscious, she pulled at the hem of her dress down her thigh.
“Well, it’s your life.”
Yes, she thought, it was.
Minutes passed in silence, until she was nearly finished with her second beer, and then T.J. spoke again. “Can’t you call a friend to come pick you up?”
“Cell phone’s dead.”
He sighed, resting his head on his arms as he swore under his breath. That roused Shannon from her blank inertia, and she straightened before reaching for her shoe. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch a bus.”
“Are you stupid?”
Shannon stared at him, frozen with shoe in hand.
T.J. sighed again, pressing his hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t know you. But that’s just so dumb. You’re going to end up – look, I get off work in less than an hour. I’ll borrow my brother’s car and drive you wherever you need to go.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, the words slipping out automatically.
“I really don’t want to see you on the news tomorrow because you got gang-raped in an alley two streets from the store.” He reached for a stack of magazines, besides the ones wrapped in plastic, and handed her an issue of Cosmopolitan. “Just until nine.”
She looked at the magazine and thought she would rather have another beer. Withdrawing a couple more dollars from her wad of change, she held then up to T.J. with an inquiring look, and he pulled a wry face as he got up.
He returned with two more bottles and pulled his chair around to sit facing the back. “Look, I’ll show you how to do this.” Bracing the bottle on his knee, he gripped the neck in one hand with his thumb on top, set the bottom of the lighter against the cap and above his top knuckle, and flicked it off. “You try.”
She took the second, fumbling to replicate his grip. He reached to show her how to brace the lighter, repositioning her fingers with a light touch. Her first try only resulted in scraped knuckles, and Shannon restrained a whimper as she stuck them in her mouth.
T.J. did not laugh at her, though she thought she caught the hint of a smile. “Try again.”
Determined now, she wiped her hand on her dress and tightened her grip again on the bottle, pausing for T.J. to appraise her hold of the lighter and to mime the movement again before her. She twisted her wrist hard, and was pleased this time to hear the pop and fizz of carbonation.
T.J. leaned back, smiling. “There you go.”
A tinkling came from the door, accompanied a moment later by several loud male voices. In moments they brought forward several cases of beer and a bag of chips, slouching against the counter and making no pretense of not staring at Shannon.
“How much is she going for, T.J.?”
“Fuck off, Darrell,” T.J. said, without hesitation or menace, simply a quiet admonishment. “She’s a friend of my brother’s.”
They quieted for a moment at that. “He was just playing,” another said, directing his words to Shannon. “Didn’t mean anything.”
She jerked her head down in a fractional nod.
“Tell Ray he’s got lucky there,” the first one said, with a wink toward her that did not feel friendly. “Tell him to bring her around sometime.”
“Around you punks? Ain’t likely.”
The men snorted, picked up their bags and ambled out.
T.J. played with the lighter on the counter, not looking at her. Shannon pressed her legs together, aware suddenly of how cold it was. She could ask – it was a little pathetic – oh hell, why not.
“Do you have anything I could change into?”
The lighter stopped between his fingers, and he looked genuinely surprised. She glared.
T.J. leaned back, considering and doubtful. “I ain’t got anything for a girl. Just a shirt and shorts in the back…they’re dirty. I mean, haven’t been washed since I wore them.”
“I’m not planning on keeping them. Just for the next hour, until I get home, then I’ll change and give them back. – That is, if you still don’t mind driving me,” she added.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, I said I would. Do you really want to change into my clothes?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He led her through the small packed storeroom, and from a doorless locker took out a shirt and pair of khaki shorts, which he shook out doubtfully before handing them to her.
Shannon shut herself in the dingy bathroom that she could barely take two steps in, glad she had put on her shoes again. Only after she had slung her dress – so little material – over the doorknob and pulled on the T-shirt did she look in the dirty mirror.
The face looking back was almost startlingly unfamiliar: make-up nearly intact, straight stylized hair above the faded blue, high-collared shirt with a hole near the shoulder and some illegible scrawl over caricaturized faces. Folding her arms across herself, she pressed the cheap cotton to her skin. It felt good. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but hopefully that wouldn’t be noticeable.
The shorts just barely stayed up over her hips, and she was glad for the shirt’s extra length. Now her shoes were even more ludicrous, but she wouldn’t go so far as to take the flip-flops T.J. had offered her.
When she stepped out of the storeroom, T.J. looked up, and she saw his lips quirk in a smile as he glanced back down. Shannon stuffed her dress inside her purse and picked up her beer and the magazine again, much more comfortable and, inexplicably, happy.
“I called my brother,” T.J. said, playing with a battered cell phone in his hands now. “He’s going to drop the car off back home in a little bit. I also called Mike – he works after me – and he’ll come in a few minutes early so I can go.”
“Thanks,” she said, awkward once more and suddenly wondering why she had gone so far as to put on his clothes. “I really appreciate it. I’ll pay for gas.”
He shrugged – not a refusal, but courteous all the same.
Ten minutes later an overweight man a few years older than them burst into the store. He came to the side door of the counter, saw Shannon, looked back at T.J., and said with meaningful finality, “All right, then.”
“Shannon, this is Mike,” T.J. said, unfazed.
“Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand, then stood back. “All right, get out, both of you. Teej, you can take my shift next week.”
“We’ll see about that.” T.J. pushed the door open in front of Shannon. “He’s not a bad guy,” he said, once the door had closed behind them.
“Seemed nice.”
T.J. led her through the streets where the lights grew more and more infrequent, to a large and foreboding apartment complex. He tugged on a gate until it opened, and brought her up a staircase to a hallway without lights. They passed screaming TVs, stereos, people, and silence, until he stopped suddenly at a door, and Shannon nearly stumbled into him.
“Wait here just a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” she said, nearly reminding him that she was wearing his clothes, but the apartment complex made her nervous.
T.J. disappeared inside and emerged less than a minute later with a set of jangling keys. He took her out by a different course, to a large parking lot and ultimately a slightly battered and aged Cadillac.
Shannon dropped into the passenger seat, buckling the seat belt and finally feeling relaxed again, as she always did to some degree when riding in a car. She gave T.J. preliminary directions, then settled back and closed her eyes. The alcohol had taken a while to sink in, but now she was feeling pleasantly buzzed.
“So,” he said, a minute later. “Who stood you up tonight?”
“I stood him up,” she muttered. It was a truth she would have to face sooner rather than later.
“Your boyfriend?”
The term repulsed her on a visceral level, and her hands involuntarily clenched. He was not that, certainly, but there was no term for their relationship…and he had once been that. “Something like that,” she said at last.
There was silence for several moments, until T.J. said, “If he’s such an asshole, why are you seeing him?”
Shannon muffled a semi-hysterical laugh, stricken by his perception, and was it really that easy? Getting control of herself, she answered, “He’s not – really an asshole. He doesn’t hit or shout at me or anything. He’s…just late.”
“Late?”
“He’s always been late.” Except, she thought. Except for that one time. Not two weeks ago. When many things had changed, and then she thought at least some things would change, and then at least one thing, just this one thing from him when everything with her had been turned upside down and inside out and she had been living in a stranger’s body for the last two weeks, a stranger who had done things she had never thought she would and told no one, wrapping up her secrets in her strange new body filled with unknown things. He had been on time then, and she had been so happy she cried all the way to the clinic.
But tonight he was late again, and nothing had changed after all. Nothing with him.
The enormity of the truth, of the selectiveness of his punctuality and what it meant, threatened to drown her now. She hadn’t cried since that last ride, and didn’t want to now, but the soothing hum of the car, the streetlights flickering over them, and the boy’s hands on the steering wheel beside her, were too much. She pressed her face down to her shoulder, burying it in the unfamiliar smell of his T-shirt, and tried to screw it in. It would be terribly ungrateful for her to cry before him now, after all he’d done for her.
She muffled her sobs into her arm, and T.J. said nothing, but after a minute he pulled over, stopped the car, and moved to rummage in the backseat before setting a box of tissues and half-empty water bottle next to her.
Shannon took them, blowing her nose and wiping her face, conscious of the mess her make-up must have made. “Sorry,” she whispered at last.
“Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me.” His voice was quiet, and he was still.
She drank the water, swallowed once more, and said, “Perryhill Station. Left down Merrington a ways.”
He turned the keys and eased back onto the road.
When they reached the station, Shannon found a ten-dollar bill to offer him, but he shook his head.
“Please,” she said, and perhaps the throatiness in her voice made him extend his hand. Instead of handing it to him, she grabbed his wrist, forcing his eyes to hers. “What days do you work at the store?”
After a pause, he said, “I’m off Sundays and Wednesdays.”
“Do you usually work in the afternoons?”
“Yeah.”
She wouldn’t let go. “I’ll wash your clothes and bring them back to you sometime next week. Okay?”
He looked at her. The dark shadows made it hard to see his face. “Sure,” he said at last.
Shannon gripped harder. “I mean it. I’ll be back.”
“Okay.”
Shannon let go, picked up her bag, and stepped out of the car. She shut the door with one hand and stood looking in, but it was almost impossible to see through the window and angles of darkness. T.J. raised his hand, and she lifted hers in return.
When the car was gone, she pulled her bag higher onto her shoulder. The night air was warm, and she felt safe in the anonymity of the crowd and T.J.’s clothes. When she walked down to the subway, she was smiling.
I was anxious about it, of course; the only thing I truly liked was the climax; but I was anxious about the majority of it in the middle, which I thought might be vague and pointless building-up which did nothing; I was (justifiably) anxious about the ending, which I thought was totally inappropriate and trite and not at all doing anything to address the main issues of the story. I'm still going to rewrite it and lots of bits, I have feedback which I have not yet incoporated, I'm only changed some typos and wording here and there.
But my professor was extremely complimentary about it, and he is not usually one to go overboard with compliments, etc.; and I mean to work on this story until I'm ready to submit it somewhere. :)
SO! Concrit, yeah, bring it all on. I know lots of things need lots of tweaking...if you want me to send the Word file to you so you can make comments/corrections throughout, I'll totally do it. :)
Punctuality
Thirteen minutes past seven, Shannon picked up her bag and left.
She turned right, away from the metro station, and walked down the crowded downtown street. The Friday evening was packed with voices, exhaust, and people pushing past without looking at her. She turned right, away from them, then left and right again, seeking the most unfamiliar streets, until she knew she was in a part of town she shouldn't be in, not alone and at that time and especially with a dead cell phone in her bag. Yet her feet kept walking, and she did not look back. Eventually she would come out on the other side, because everything was limited and had an end.
Loitering boys in oversized T-shirts and shorts stared at her as she passed, but she kept her heels clicking on the middle of the sidewalk, never missing a beat. A car slowed down beside her, those inside calling. She did not look at them. When she reached the end of the block, she ducked into a tiny convenience store.
It was especially bright inside, as they were in these areas, the windows struggling for a balance between visibility and lottery and cigarette ads. Shannon moved past the two rows of canned vegetables and just-add-water meals, to the coolers, and picked out a beer without looking at the label. She did look at the cashier as she set it down, harder than she meant to. He seemed about her age, dressed in a ragged T-shirt and equally worn jeans, his hair in short dark dreadlocks and a small scar beside his nose. He didn’t card her, and she hadn’t expected him to.
His eyes traveled deliberately down her short frilly dress with its black and red pattern, and Shannon was not offended. She was not dressed for patronizing this convenience store – or any, for that matter. It occurred to her again how unwise it was for her to be here alone with no means of communication or real idea of how to get back – but the more pressing issue was probably how she did not care.
When he pushed her change back across the counter, she held the beer out toward him. Catching on, he picked up a cigarette lighter from a plastic bin offering them on sale, and with a quick skilled movement, popped the top off.
Shannon turned away, leaning back against the counter as she drank the beer, neither sipping nor gulping. She wished there were a seat; now that she had stopped walking, she could feel her feet.
“Big party tonight?”
It was the first thing he had said to her. Shannon turned her head to look back. “No.” She considered leaving it at that, but even when he had looked her up and down it hadn’t seemed leering, and she had no one else to talk to. “There was going to be a dinner.”
“Stood you up?” The words were offered neutrally, without a suggestive smirk implying either typical inference.
She shook her head, gazing at a selection of ramen. “No. Probably not.” He would have shown up twenty, twenty-five minutes past, just like every other time. She had accepted that long ago and decided his tardiness was not personal or offensive. It was, in fact, quite a minor flaw. She had not yet thought about why tonight it was suddenly unbearable, or what the consequences would be of her standing him up.
Shannon took another long drink of the beer, then looked more intently at the boy. He was not unattractive; his brown eyes seemed nice. “What’s your name?”
“T.J.”
“I’m Shannon.” She held out her hand, and he shook it after a slight hesitation. “Is there anywhere I could sit down? Just for a little bit.”
He stepped away from the counter, indicating the small space around him. “There’s another chair here.”
She walked around, through the swinging half-door, and settled the tarnished folding chair down before the cigarette cases. Pulling her foot up over her knee, she rubbed at her ankle for a moment, then began to tug at the buckle. T.J. watched, leaning away from her, as she dropped both spindly shoes onto the wooden floor and massaged her red feet. The skin before her toes was starting to blister.
“Where are you from?” he asked at last.
“Uh – around Studewood.”
“Oh. Long way.”
“I didn’t walk from there. Just Bellaire.”
“On those things?” His voice had had a neutral, impersonal coolness before, but now an incredulous note entered. “Why?”
Her lips twisted, and she kept her eyes on her toes, pressing her thumbs into her sole. “Do you live around here?”
“Yeah, just a couple blocks away.”
Can I come home with you, she nearly asked, and bit her tongue in dismay. She couldn’t start acting so crazy. As a deterrent against further imprudent behavior, she tilted the beer up and took three swallows, draining it.
He eyed the empty bottle. “Do you want another?”
Shannon fished through her bag, finally pulling out a five. “Get yourself one too.”
“Nah.” He waved the money away, but she pushed it forward with a sudden aggressiveness, and he complied, accepting the bill as he stepped past her. He returned with two beers, but only rang up one on the register and handed her change to her before snapping the tops off both. They touched the wet glass together and drank.
“So where were you headed?”
Shannon shrugged, wishing she had an answer.
“Really? No place? Just wanted a walk through nice ol’ Montrose looking like that?”
Conscious, she pulled at the hem of her dress down her thigh.
“Well, it’s your life.”
Yes, she thought, it was.
Minutes passed in silence, until she was nearly finished with her second beer, and then T.J. spoke again. “Can’t you call a friend to come pick you up?”
“Cell phone’s dead.”
He sighed, resting his head on his arms as he swore under his breath. That roused Shannon from her blank inertia, and she straightened before reaching for her shoe. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch a bus.”
“Are you stupid?”
Shannon stared at him, frozen with shoe in hand.
T.J. sighed again, pressing his hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t know you. But that’s just so dumb. You’re going to end up – look, I get off work in less than an hour. I’ll borrow my brother’s car and drive you wherever you need to go.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, the words slipping out automatically.
“I really don’t want to see you on the news tomorrow because you got gang-raped in an alley two streets from the store.” He reached for a stack of magazines, besides the ones wrapped in plastic, and handed her an issue of Cosmopolitan. “Just until nine.”
She looked at the magazine and thought she would rather have another beer. Withdrawing a couple more dollars from her wad of change, she held then up to T.J. with an inquiring look, and he pulled a wry face as he got up.
He returned with two more bottles and pulled his chair around to sit facing the back. “Look, I’ll show you how to do this.” Bracing the bottle on his knee, he gripped the neck in one hand with his thumb on top, set the bottom of the lighter against the cap and above his top knuckle, and flicked it off. “You try.”
She took the second, fumbling to replicate his grip. He reached to show her how to brace the lighter, repositioning her fingers with a light touch. Her first try only resulted in scraped knuckles, and Shannon restrained a whimper as she stuck them in her mouth.
T.J. did not laugh at her, though she thought she caught the hint of a smile. “Try again.”
Determined now, she wiped her hand on her dress and tightened her grip again on the bottle, pausing for T.J. to appraise her hold of the lighter and to mime the movement again before her. She twisted her wrist hard, and was pleased this time to hear the pop and fizz of carbonation.
T.J. leaned back, smiling. “There you go.”
A tinkling came from the door, accompanied a moment later by several loud male voices. In moments they brought forward several cases of beer and a bag of chips, slouching against the counter and making no pretense of not staring at Shannon.
“How much is she going for, T.J.?”
“Fuck off, Darrell,” T.J. said, without hesitation or menace, simply a quiet admonishment. “She’s a friend of my brother’s.”
They quieted for a moment at that. “He was just playing,” another said, directing his words to Shannon. “Didn’t mean anything.”
She jerked her head down in a fractional nod.
“Tell Ray he’s got lucky there,” the first one said, with a wink toward her that did not feel friendly. “Tell him to bring her around sometime.”
“Around you punks? Ain’t likely.”
The men snorted, picked up their bags and ambled out.
T.J. played with the lighter on the counter, not looking at her. Shannon pressed her legs together, aware suddenly of how cold it was. She could ask – it was a little pathetic – oh hell, why not.
“Do you have anything I could change into?”
The lighter stopped between his fingers, and he looked genuinely surprised. She glared.
T.J. leaned back, considering and doubtful. “I ain’t got anything for a girl. Just a shirt and shorts in the back…they’re dirty. I mean, haven’t been washed since I wore them.”
“I’m not planning on keeping them. Just for the next hour, until I get home, then I’ll change and give them back. – That is, if you still don’t mind driving me,” she added.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, I said I would. Do you really want to change into my clothes?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He led her through the small packed storeroom, and from a doorless locker took out a shirt and pair of khaki shorts, which he shook out doubtfully before handing them to her.
Shannon shut herself in the dingy bathroom that she could barely take two steps in, glad she had put on her shoes again. Only after she had slung her dress – so little material – over the doorknob and pulled on the T-shirt did she look in the dirty mirror.
The face looking back was almost startlingly unfamiliar: make-up nearly intact, straight stylized hair above the faded blue, high-collared shirt with a hole near the shoulder and some illegible scrawl over caricaturized faces. Folding her arms across herself, she pressed the cheap cotton to her skin. It felt good. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but hopefully that wouldn’t be noticeable.
The shorts just barely stayed up over her hips, and she was glad for the shirt’s extra length. Now her shoes were even more ludicrous, but she wouldn’t go so far as to take the flip-flops T.J. had offered her.
When she stepped out of the storeroom, T.J. looked up, and she saw his lips quirk in a smile as he glanced back down. Shannon stuffed her dress inside her purse and picked up her beer and the magazine again, much more comfortable and, inexplicably, happy.
“I called my brother,” T.J. said, playing with a battered cell phone in his hands now. “He’s going to drop the car off back home in a little bit. I also called Mike – he works after me – and he’ll come in a few minutes early so I can go.”
“Thanks,” she said, awkward once more and suddenly wondering why she had gone so far as to put on his clothes. “I really appreciate it. I’ll pay for gas.”
He shrugged – not a refusal, but courteous all the same.
Ten minutes later an overweight man a few years older than them burst into the store. He came to the side door of the counter, saw Shannon, looked back at T.J., and said with meaningful finality, “All right, then.”
“Shannon, this is Mike,” T.J. said, unfazed.
“Pleased to meet you.” He shook her hand, then stood back. “All right, get out, both of you. Teej, you can take my shift next week.”
“We’ll see about that.” T.J. pushed the door open in front of Shannon. “He’s not a bad guy,” he said, once the door had closed behind them.
“Seemed nice.”
T.J. led her through the streets where the lights grew more and more infrequent, to a large and foreboding apartment complex. He tugged on a gate until it opened, and brought her up a staircase to a hallway without lights. They passed screaming TVs, stereos, people, and silence, until he stopped suddenly at a door, and Shannon nearly stumbled into him.
“Wait here just a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” she said, nearly reminding him that she was wearing his clothes, but the apartment complex made her nervous.
T.J. disappeared inside and emerged less than a minute later with a set of jangling keys. He took her out by a different course, to a large parking lot and ultimately a slightly battered and aged Cadillac.
Shannon dropped into the passenger seat, buckling the seat belt and finally feeling relaxed again, as she always did to some degree when riding in a car. She gave T.J. preliminary directions, then settled back and closed her eyes. The alcohol had taken a while to sink in, but now she was feeling pleasantly buzzed.
“So,” he said, a minute later. “Who stood you up tonight?”
“I stood him up,” she muttered. It was a truth she would have to face sooner rather than later.
“Your boyfriend?”
The term repulsed her on a visceral level, and her hands involuntarily clenched. He was not that, certainly, but there was no term for their relationship…and he had once been that. “Something like that,” she said at last.
There was silence for several moments, until T.J. said, “If he’s such an asshole, why are you seeing him?”
Shannon muffled a semi-hysterical laugh, stricken by his perception, and was it really that easy? Getting control of herself, she answered, “He’s not – really an asshole. He doesn’t hit or shout at me or anything. He’s…just late.”
“Late?”
“He’s always been late.” Except, she thought. Except for that one time. Not two weeks ago. When many things had changed, and then she thought at least some things would change, and then at least one thing, just this one thing from him when everything with her had been turned upside down and inside out and she had been living in a stranger’s body for the last two weeks, a stranger who had done things she had never thought she would and told no one, wrapping up her secrets in her strange new body filled with unknown things. He had been on time then, and she had been so happy she cried all the way to the clinic.
But tonight he was late again, and nothing had changed after all. Nothing with him.
The enormity of the truth, of the selectiveness of his punctuality and what it meant, threatened to drown her now. She hadn’t cried since that last ride, and didn’t want to now, but the soothing hum of the car, the streetlights flickering over them, and the boy’s hands on the steering wheel beside her, were too much. She pressed her face down to her shoulder, burying it in the unfamiliar smell of his T-shirt, and tried to screw it in. It would be terribly ungrateful for her to cry before him now, after all he’d done for her.
She muffled her sobs into her arm, and T.J. said nothing, but after a minute he pulled over, stopped the car, and moved to rummage in the backseat before setting a box of tissues and half-empty water bottle next to her.
Shannon took them, blowing her nose and wiping her face, conscious of the mess her make-up must have made. “Sorry,” she whispered at last.
“Hey, you don’t have to apologize to me.” His voice was quiet, and he was still.
She drank the water, swallowed once more, and said, “Perryhill Station. Left down Merrington a ways.”
He turned the keys and eased back onto the road.
When they reached the station, Shannon found a ten-dollar bill to offer him, but he shook his head.
“Please,” she said, and perhaps the throatiness in her voice made him extend his hand. Instead of handing it to him, she grabbed his wrist, forcing his eyes to hers. “What days do you work at the store?”
After a pause, he said, “I’m off Sundays and Wednesdays.”
“Do you usually work in the afternoons?”
“Yeah.”
She wouldn’t let go. “I’ll wash your clothes and bring them back to you sometime next week. Okay?”
He looked at her. The dark shadows made it hard to see his face. “Sure,” he said at last.
Shannon gripped harder. “I mean it. I’ll be back.”
“Okay.”
Shannon let go, picked up her bag, and stepped out of the car. She shut the door with one hand and stood looking in, but it was almost impossible to see through the window and angles of darkness. T.J. raised his hand, and she lifted hers in return.
When the car was gone, she pulled her bag higher onto her shoulder. The night air was warm, and she felt safe in the anonymity of the crowd and T.J.’s clothes. When she walked down to the subway, she was smiling.