Tales


Dark Chance

Story 3 of the Dark Heart Dimensions trilogy



  "No way," I said to myself, pausing as the guy in the station wagon passed me then stopped at the red light.  'It couldn't be him,' I thought as I quickly walked across the street to the car, after checking for coming traffic.

  I wanted to get a better look at him before I said anything, but he started to turn right on the red light just as I approached the back seat window on his side.  If the guy was who I thought he was, then I hadn't seen him in about five years, and if I didn't find out then, I probably never would.  Not to mention that if it was him, and I didn't find out, I'd probably never see him again.

  I jump for the roof of the car just as it started moving.  I landed on the roof just far enough to grab the roof railing on the far side.  I pulled myself fully onto the roof, surprised that the car was still moving, but I supposed that any noise I might have made was drowned out by the volume of the music emanating from inside the car.  Holding on to the left roof railing, I looked over the side and into the open driver's side window.  It looked just like him.

  "Steve?" His attention remained on the road.  He obviously didn't hear me so I said more loudly, "Steve?"

  His head turned toward me, and his eyes widened.

  "Shit," he exclaimed as he swerved to the side of the road and hit the brakes.

  Luckily, we weren't going very fast, so my trip over the windshield ended at the hood instead of on the pavement.  In a matter of seconds, I found myself looking at him through the windshield while gripping a windshield wiper.  He turned off the music as I slid off to the passenger's side.

  "What the hell are you doing," he shouted.

  I looked through the open passenger window and said, "Is that you, Steve?"

  "Do I know you?"

  I didn't really expect him to recognize me after so long.  We didn't see that much of each other during the one year he was in town.

  "Yeah, you know me," I said opening the door and getting in.  "We were in art class together when you went to high school here your senior year.  I was a junior.  I came to your apartment one time and showed you my poetry.  Remember?" I didn't want my name to be what triggered a memory, so I didn't offer it.

  His look of angered confusion melted as he said, "Oh, yeah?"  He smiled.  "What the hell was that," he asked, referring to my stunt.

  "I just wanted to see if it was really you.  Where've you been?  Every time I found out you were one place, you'd already left and found another place.  I gave up after three addresses.  What are you doing back?"

  "Whoa.  Hey.  It's good to see you too.  I'm stopped here a couple of days on my way someplace else?"  He started driving again.

  "Great.  Where are you going?"

  He turned on the right blinker and pointed to the nearby drive-thru restaurant, "Just in here to pick up my order," then turned into the driveway.

  "No.  I mean, what city?"

  He pulled into a parking space and reached out to push the call button on the speaker box.  "I don't remember the name.  I-" then a voice crackled from the speaker.  The voice went through the mandatory greeting, and Steve replied saying why he was there.  Returning his attention to me, he said, "I'm being sent to take over as manager of a music store."

  "And what's with this station wagon?  What happen to your other car.  I mean, come on."

  "It's a loner for until I can have my car sent to me.  This one's bigger and can hold all my stuff."

  "Oh," I said, understanding the logic.

  "Anyway, the store is in a slow part of town, and I'm suppose to see if I can liven up the business, and bring in more customers.  They gave me partial directions that took me through here, so since I've lived here before, they said for me to stay here until they could call me with more directions."

  "So, where're you staying?"

  "Actually, the same apartment I had when I lived here."

  Our conversation paused as a waitress approached with the order for two, then resumed as he pulled out.

  "Why did you get an apartment if you're here for only a few days?"

  "Well, I'm here with someone, and I don't have enough money for a motel room for two.  Since the landlady and I were friends, she cut me a deal, and the same apartment happen to be empty."

  "Lucked out, didn't you?  Who's with you?  Is it your girlfriend that you were with when you lived here, or are you not seeing her any more?"

  "No, it's not her.  We're still seeing each other, but it's a long distance relationship.  She wanted to continue her education at a better college."

  "I hope it works out for the two of you."

  "Thanks.  I hope so, too."

  "So, who are you with?"

  "I'm with a friend I made in the last city I lived in.  She said she wanted to go with me to live in the city I'll be working in.  She said she likes the quiet, but she likes the city, and the two aren't exactly synonymous, except there, it would seem."

  "So, pretty much, you're headed for a utopia?"  We both laughed.

  "Well, for her maybe.  From the description from the manager I'm replacing, it's a pretty weird place, but he did describe a nearby night club that sounds like one I'd like to check out.  She liked the sound of it as well."

  "I wouldn't mind joining you if I wasn't so rooted here, not rooted by choice, though.  I still cringe at the fact that I've lived here all my life."

  "Really?"

  "Yes," I said dolefully

  "Oh, yeah.  I remember.  You have my sympathies."

  "Thanks.  I need them?"  I paused.  "Actually, I don't need them, and that's what scares me."

  We both laughed again, and he said, "Yes, I can see how that could be rather frightening."

  He pulled into the gravel parking lot of the apartment building in which he and his friend were staying.  I carried the two large cups of soft drink, and he the sack of food, as we walked up the stairs to his apartment door.  It was in fact the very same apartment, old and worn as ever.

  I recalled how it once looked with all his posters almost covering every wall and some of the ceiling.  I wondered how it looked now.  He transferred his car keys to the hand that held the sack and reached into his pocket for the apartment key.  He pulled open the squeaky screen door, and I held it open with my foot as he unlocked the main door.  He opened the door and allowed me to enter first.

  I looked around at the room and thought to myself that maybe he should put his posters back up.  Then I noticed the same gaudy orange and brown couch.  At least he didn't have the misfortune of calling it his own.  There was still the small fold up card table acting as a dining table.  The tiny kitchen was still grungy.  Oddly enough, the bathroom was the only decent part of the small apartment.

  He walked up beside me shouting to his as yet seen companion, "I'm back with the food.  And I brought an old friend I'd like you to meet?"  He said to me, "Here I'll take those," referring to the drinks.  He shouted again, "He actually jumped on top of the car to see if it was really me?"  He then held the sack between his teeth so he could take both drinks, accidentally dropping his apartment key in the process.

  "I got it," I said, and he walked toward the kitchen.  I bent over to pick up the keys and was briefly inspecting a small crusted spot on the worn carpet when a pair of black leather lace up boots appeared not two and a half feet before me.  Setting atop the boots were the rolled cuffs of a pair of baggy black jeans.  Whoever this friend was, I liked her style, so far.

  As I arose further, I saw the bottom of a long black T-shirt.  I thought to myself, 'Got a black thing going on here, eh?  Works for me.' I then came across two arms, of an unusual white color, held across the front of the shirt; one arm horizontal and one vertical.  I say unusual because they were neither the usual milky, alabaster, nor sickly color of white.

  I followed the vertical arm upward to a hand that was closed except for one finger which continued upward and disappeared at the very end between a pair of beautiful unpainted, yet sufficiently pink lips.  'Wait a minute,' I thought to myself, having a sudden eerie feeling.

  I followed the lips sideways, and to my right, to find a smooth cheek the same color as the arms.  Upward again, the cheek lead to a temple which soon vanished behind sharp wisps of hair as black as the boots at which I started.  'No way', I thought, 'No possible way.' I followed the nearby black eyebrow to its beginning then down to the eye.

  It all happened in a matter of a second or two, but it seemed like minutes passed as I stared into her inkwell pupils.

  I took a step back and glanced over her again.  Her eyebrows furrowed, no doubt in confusion at my behavior.  My eyes were wide, and I was staring at her face and hair, all while mentally repeating, 'It can't be,' but it looked just like her.  "Steve," I said managing to break my gaze long enough to glance at him, "get your car keys."

  He was taking the food out of the sack.  "What?"

  "Get your car keys.  You're driving me home?"  I looked at him and started backing up toward the door.

  "What?"

  His repetition began to annoy me, but I kept the same tone.  "Come on," I said turning and opening the apartment door.  I walked quickly out and down the stairs, across the parking lot and to the car.  As I opened the passenger's side door, I looked to see if he was coming.

  "What's going on," he asked as he left the last stair step.

  I said nothing.  I got in the car and shut the door.  I noticed for the first time that my heart was pounding, so I took two deep breaths to try to calm down.  He opened the driver's side door and got in.

  "Hey.  What's going on.  What's wrong," he said shutting the door and starting the car.

  "I need to get something from the house, then to come back here."

  Pulling out of the parking space, he said, "Okay.  Okay?"  As he turned into the street, he added, "Are you alright?"

  "I don't know?"  I paused.  "Tell me about her."

  "What do you mean?  I told you; she's a friend of mine, and she going-"

  "No," I interrupted, "I mean about her.  Who is she?  What's she like?"  I looked at him.

  "Her name is-"

  "No!  Not her name.  I don't want to know her name.  Just tell me what she's like."

  He glanced at me curiously and offered the information as it came to him.

  "Okay.  She's a nice person.  She's quiet.  I, uh, don't know of any other friends of hers but me?"  He glanced at me again and said as a question, "She's single," probably wondering if I was looking for a date or something.  He paused.  "What else?"

  I thought a moment.  "Does she have any family?"

  "Not that she's ever mentioned.  Why?  What's all this about?  And where am I going?  I don't know where you live," he said matter of factly.

  "You'll find out.  Does she always wear black?  Turn left up here."

  "Most of the time that I see her."

  We were both silent for the remainder of the drive, except for my giving directions.  After he stopped in my driveway, I said, "I'll be back in a minute," then got out of the car.

  I unlocked the front door and went inside leaving the door open.  I went to my filing cabinet, pulled open the top drawer, and retrieved the contents of the file for which I was searching and apparently had found.  I pushed the drawer shut, and on my way back to the front door, thought to myself, 'This is unbelievable.  Completely unbelievable.' I locked my front door, shut it, and got back into the car, shutting that door as well.  In my peripheral vision, I saw him look at the file.

  "What's that," he asked, then looked backward to see if it was safe to pull out.

  As he pulled out, I replied, "Something far too strange."

  There was no exception to our silence on the way back to his apartment.  We entered the apartment to find the young woman sitting at the table finishing a hamburger.  She had set Steve's food and drink across the table from her, his hamburger still wrapped in plain white paper.  I heard him shut the door behind me.  I avoided looking at her for the moment, for the sake of concentration.  I opened the file and took out some of the papers.

  "Here.  Sit down," I said to Steve and pointed to his space at the table.  I separated the papers that I held into two groups as he walked to the empty chair and sat.

  "Okay, what's this about," he asked.

  I handed him some papers and said, "Read this."  He took the pages, looked at me curiously, then looked at the top page, and started reading.  I looked the young woman in the eyes then handed her the other pages and said again in a softer voice, "Read this."  She said nothing.  She only took pages and began reading.

  I walked to the couch and sat facing them both.  I leaned back on one of the arms of the couch and put my feet up on the far cushion.  I supported my head by my jaw in one hand as I watched them, looking for any changes in their facial expressions.

  The papers I had given them were two different short stories that I had written.  I had given him a story about a young man who lives in an apartment, in a strange part of a city.  The man meets a newer tenant who is a young woman.  He meets her face to face for the first time while returning something of hers to her apartment, and in short, they have a profound conversation then find out that they love each other.

  I had given the young woman a story about a young man who witnesses a strange thunder storm, during some of which, a dark figure watches him.  After the storm, and by only the light of the moon, he finds the figure in the local graveyard.  The figure turns out to be the spirit of a young woman who died without ever knowing love, and the only reason he can see her is because he is now dead and the two were meant to be together.

  Neither the face of Steve nor his friend took on any distinct changes as they read.  He finished, and I pointed, instructing him to let her read the story as well.  When she finished, he traded stories with her.  She glanced at me before beginning, but I again couldn't look her in the eye, so I lowered my gaze.  Seconds later, I looked up again to watch their faces.

  In the stories, I had based both young men on myself and both young women on a fabricated character.  After a while, I saw Steve occasionally take a short look at his friend.  Near the end of the story he was reading, he looked up at me and stared in awe.  I then knew that he had realized that the description of the young woman in each story matched that of the young woman that was sitting across the table from himself; same black hair, same white skin, and a lot of the same personality.  I just stared back at him and slowly nodded.

  There was the sound of a quiet sniff, and we both looked at her.  Her expression had changed: It was no longer that of casual interest.  She quietly sniffed again and brushed her nose with her finger.  I moved slowly, crawling across the couch cushions, never taking my eyes off her.  Peripherally, I could see Steve looking back and forth, from me to her, to see what was about to happen.

  One foot on the floor and one on the arm, I sat on the left arm of the couch with my arms around my legs and my cheek resting on my knee.  From only a few feet away, I saw her eyes begin to glisten.  My throat felt dry, and my heart beat hollow in my chest as I watched a single tear slowly roll down her left cheek.  She sniffed again, a little more loudly, her movement causing the tear in her right eye to fall.  Both stories had happy endings, and I knew hers were not tears of joy.

  I thought to myself, 'Could it be?  Could it possibly be?  Could a person that I created to be perfect for me actually exist?' I felt my own emotions begin to stir, though no tears surfaced.

  I got up from the arm of the couch and moved closer to her as she finished reading.  She sniffed again.  Another tear started down her left cheek following the glistening path left by the previous drop.  I knelt, reached out my hand, and brushed away the tear with my thumb.  As I did, she placed her left hand on the back of mine, holding my right hand to her face, then glided my hand down to her lips, closing my hand into a ball as she moved it and turned her head to look at me.

  "Is it you," I asked softly.  I felt like I was dreaming.  I wasn't sure.

  She nodded yes, and more tears fell.

  Her answer changed nothing in me.  How many wonderful dreams had I awaked from to find they weren't real?  Too many to be fooled too easily.  "Is it?"

  The pages fell from her right hand as she moved it to place her open palm on my left cheek.  Her warm hand slid for only a fraction of a second, but I felt every tiny moment of it until she let go with both hands and wrapped her arms around me.  She held me tight, and I heard her speak for the first time.  "Yes," she said in a quiet trembling voice.

  I closed my eyes as my mind lifted.  Such a sense of relief encompassed me as I held her close.  She and the world did not dissolve.  I did not wake to find myself alone and in bed.  She was real.  She was solid.

  I opened my eyes and looked at Steve.  He was staring, still mentally sorting out what he had just witnessed.  "I'll be going with you after all," I said.



Written:
Saturday
May 6, 1995


Tales