One Can Chance A Glance

Short story writing debut.

The night was not young.

Many hours have passed but the persistent wind didn’t lose its sharp bitterness.  The black, cemented path was glistening with fallen rain, orange toned with street lights.

The street lights were the first thing she noticed, in fact. Tall, lank metal rods, reaching higher than the scarce trees surrounding it were tirelessly lighting the lonely path, the evergreen, towering trees and everything living and dead. Both of the sad things were flickering in the most impractical manner.

Thoughts ran through her head wildly. The jazz bar behind her was full to the brink with people. The door were half-open, allowing the dim lightning to shine into the night and the disgusting smells of cheap liquor and smoke ooze into the air. The feel was sultry, though, the way the cold, brisk late night breeze collided with the sweat sliding down her pulsating neck, the almost loving way it calmed her ragged breathing and red cheeks was almost addictive.

She had seen that man again. The man she sees on the streets while hurrying to work and back, the man she sees in every café she frequents, the man who’s there in every bar she goes to. It never bothered her at first; he was a rather well-looking guy her age, so seeing him now and then was a sight for sore eyes. However, the way he looked at her at all times and his very presence has begun to unnerve her, to the point of unreason. With his shaggy hair and sincere eyes, and perhaps the most beautiful facial lines she’s ever saw, he looked out of this world.

To get her mind away from everything, she decided to go to the place where she is now. She saw him again, however. In a state of mind-numbing panic, she ran up the flight of stairs behind the dress room to escape him somehow, and after some time of trudging through a dingy, purple and red light-tinted space, she found herself up on the rain-touched pathway where she resided right now.

There was no way she’ll be going inside anytime soon. Digging her nose into the high collar of the black coat, she made her way to sit on a pillar next to the stairs, just close enough to see the whole road, both left and right. A few paranoid looks and her eyes were set on the flickering lights once more. Dazed, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, deciding to light up despite herself.

As she was reaching for the lighter, the lights went completely out, scaring her in the process as the wind howled suddenly and the door behind her slammed full force. She nearly dropped the unlit cigarette between her lips, turning around abruptly to comprehend what just happened. Nothing was there. She turned back to lighting the blasted thing and she was nearly completely calm again when a deep, male voice broke the silence.

“Nice evening.”

She arched in surprise, letting out a small yelp. Her heart was beating erratically, her breath coming out as mangled as it was a few minutes before when she climbed out of the bar. Closing her eyes, she placed her arms on her knees for support, pressing lips together and deforming the cigarette end a slight bit. She had awaited him. It was no doubt he’d come up, searching for her, even though it blew her mind why didn’t he before. The panic she’d felt before was completely gone, whether it was for the sharply cold night, the dim-lit path, the faint tobacco taste in her mouth, the curiosity to get to know the well-known stranger was overbearing. Turning around, she spotted a dark hue near the door, unmoving, but the night was heavy and the light was currently out. His statement was sarcastic, she felt, but he was right. The night was nowhere near nice.  He continued inquiring.

“Enjoyed the show?”
“Sure.”

He neared her as one of the lights flickered wearily, enough to make out his contour in the dark. His step resounded determination as he elegantly made his way to stand on her left. Alike her, he too cast a look on the both sides, before burying his hands in his hair and stretching with a satisfied yawn. He turned his back to her to light a cigarette and she noticed her breath finally stabilising. The lights were still flickering, making the place where she sat light for a moment before throwing it into complete darkness.  She remembered the silver lighter in her hand and soundly opened it. The guy turned swiftly, the cigarette between his lips burning, casting an amused look upon his face, or at least that much that she saw in the shadows.

“Smoking is bad for you,” he teased.
“And isn’t that a cig between your lips as well?”
“It may be, what if it is?”
“It’s not nice to lecture random strangers.”
“You’re no random stranger.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”

Frustrated, she plucked the cigarette from in-between her lips only to glare up at him. He smirked instead, zipping his leather jacket. He didn’t quit his subtle mocking, however.

“It’s funny how we always frequent same shows.”
“Do we?”
“We do.”

She let an annoyed sound slip, rising to her feet. Throwing an unlit cig to the floor, she eyed the man beside her, his smirking lips as he indulged his own, and stepped on it as soon as it fell. She became transfixed in destroying the thing, smashing it with her foot in a silent, aggressive manner. His observing was making her heat up, feeling like a micro scoped subject, but in the same way filling her with mixed feelings of him.

“Nice taste in music, then.” He’s still smirking, she can’t believe.
“Is it?” She sneered.

It was his turn to be annoyed. The flickering light decided to work again, soft illumination pinning her down and she looked ethereal to him, with her long, wavy ink hair to her waist, only in a cream-coloured lace dress and flats, covered with a black coat, a shivering mess she was, breathing out slowly in cold huffs. His own eyes averted to the ground as he neared her, step by step, as if afraid she’ll turn to stardust and clouds and disappear with the wind if he scares her.

“It is,” he said slowly in his lowest voice.

She dismissed him with a glance and started walking away, but he would have none of that. Crushing the cigarette he no longer wanted, he followed her with an eager, haste step. She noticed and reluctantly slowed down, allowing him to keep up with her. Her eyes sparked through the dark and he said nothing, buried deep in his own thoughts. His pace seemed to fasten on his own and she found herself in need to run. She couldn’t let him go this easily.

“Hey! Wait up!” she whispered harshly.
He spun swiftly with a wide, self-satisfied smirk adorning his face.
“If the lady wishes so,” he taunted, extending his arm.

She eyed it in wary, and then turned her gaze towards him, somewhat angry. Still, the arm remained in place and she took it, not missing his smile as he continued walking, slowly this time. He was warm, even his nimble fingers which she expertly laced with hers.

As they trudged through the park, illuminated by a thick orange sheen, she found herself leaning her head on his leather-covered arm slightly, closing her eyes and feeling rather than seeing where she should walk. She could feel his restlessness beneath the façade of indifference, eager soul beneath the façade of playfulness.

“What’s your name?” he inquired.
“Does it matter?”
“It does.”
 
She sniffed indignantly, stuffing her face into the leather of his jacket. She felt that, even if he knew everything about her, she wouldn’t lose anything in the end.

“Nate.”

He repeated her name silently, rolling it off his tongue into the silence, as if testing it. He whispered under his breath, but she couldn’t hear for the world.
“Nice to finally know you.”

He guided her to the nearby bench and slightly pushed her down to sit. Her eyes shot open and she whined as he sat down next to her.
“You’re annoying.” she commented.
“Don’t you want to know my name?”
“Not exactly.”

Giving her a hurt look, he frowned, standing up to leave when he felt a tug at his sleeve. The girl on the bench fidgeted, eyes glued to the floor.
“I’m sorry.”

He sat back, not missing out on how she didn’t dare to move, blushing sweetly as much as he could see under the artificial light. She was something else and he couldn’t move his gaze away if his life depended on him, and she noticed the perturbing look he was giving her. The slight panic from earlier rose and she retorted.

“One can chance a glance, but you’re going f*****g overboard,“ she briskly snapped, breathily.
“Change a glance…know any more of the rhyme?”
“Change, glance…stance, prance, lance…”
“Dance…romance.”

She threw a fleeting look under her eyelashes his way, avoiding any real eye contact. Her head fell forward to the arms hugging her knees and she attempted to tune him out. He grinned, leaning into the back of the bench, looking up to the pitch black sky. He wasn’t a huge fan of the night, but the girl next to him seemed so. For him, it was too dark, too tiring, too perplexing, too humid, and too cold at the same time. Closing his eyes, he sung under his breath.

“My blue Manhattan…”

She flinched, but didn’t move otherwise.

“She’s angry like a child, but how sweet. Fire and rain on the street, it’s you against me most days, it’s me against you, doll…”

Her head rose up. She wouldn’t miss out to see him.

“The snow’s coming down on the cars in midtown...”

His voice was a harsh deep whisper, but she enjoyed it despite.

“Making snow angels in the gravel and the dirt…crawling like a spider, and I’m somewhere inside her, too hurt to move, too hurt to move…”

His eyes piously fixed themselves upon the sky.

“My blue Manhattan…”

He was leaning into the bench, arms spread wide and head thrown back in bliss, while she was lounging against the steel armrest, digging into her back but she didn’t mind, hugging her knees, face covered except the eyes that have been following the man beside her. As the lamps shed light upon him, she didn’t know what to feel. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, beat him, run away at the same time, but she did none. She observed the beautiful well-known stranger with the voice of angels, his form, and listened to their mixed breaths in the complete silence. In the meantime, he snapped out of his reverie. She realised she hadn’t asked him anything she wanted to. She realised he’d told her nothing she wants to know, because she hasn’t even asked. She didn’t really care. It was nice being with him there, just sitting on the bench. He returned her gaze, his glistening brown eyes soft, with dark circles around them, looking tired and loving and he was everything beautiful, annoying, perfect, imperfect, worst, and best she’d seen her entire life.

The night was not young anymore. It was not even night in its purest, but rather a day on its wake. The darkness was thinning out, jet black turning to mellow grey, and the orange lights were weakening too, so she could see the thick fog in formation.
With a deep sigh and a content smile he slipped up to his feet from the bench and her sleepy self suddenly got alarmed when the eye lock was broken. Something stirred in her and she lunged to grasp his hand, but managed to miss.
“Where are you going?” she whispered.

He turned, sending a cheerful grin her way.

“It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t go!”
“I never actually leave, you know.”

She kept silent for a while and she wanted to get up and follow him, but she was too weak to.

“What’s your name?”
“You don’t want to know it.”
“I do!” she screamed, breaking through the old, thick wall of silence.

He grinned again, slipping into his old, knowing smirk.

“Don’t you?” he whispered.
“I really do,” she whimpered.

He pondered her answer for a moment, teasingly shifting his weight from leg to leg, nearing her sleepy form on the bench, finally bowing down slowly. His whisky-tainted sweet breath lingered on her skin, making her blush. He closed his eyes, leaning in to smell her hair and trace his nose down over her cheek to her lips. He pressed a slow but loving, chaste kiss to her lips, and then pulled away.

“Another night, granted.”

He was gone, just like that. Evaporating into the air like summer rain. As she opened her eyes, a row of trees, a long path and a grey sky greeted her instead of his shady form. She didn’t feel like she needs sleep anymore, rising to her hurting feet, smoothing out her dress and hurriedly looking around in the fog, as if she might find him. When she found no one, she remembered the pack of cigarettes in her pocket. Rather than to smoke, she gazed at the yellow packaging before thrashing it in the bin beside the bench. With the smallest smile on her lips, she watched the weak lights go off and the new, rainy and slow day, rise to exist.

Author's Note

The song the stranger sings is My Blue Manhattan by Ryan Adams, to which I disclaim any ownership.

Reviews

[Alana McGuire]

A very captivating story of a mysterious encounter. I enjoyed it very very much. I'm still captivated and blown away by your writing gift. God has definitely blessed you abundantly with talent. :)