Lark: The Stars

A story written for my writing workshop about a ferry. One of three pieces.

Sometimes it feels like we must have danced all night, out there in that boat on the river.  It was late, around eleven, and I was coming home from overtime.  Since it was only a Thursday night, there weren’t many other people on the ferry.  Only a crowd of twenty or so had been waiting with me for its arrival.  I didn’t mind the wait, for once.  It was a beautiful night.  The stars never shine in this city.  That night, though, they did, white specks in an infinite blue.  I couldn’t help but stare as we were shepherded onto the ferry.  I wanted to go out onto the deck and stare more, but habit dragged me inside the ferry, to the little café I loved.

It wasn’t really a café so much as a glorified snack bar, a little place with a plastic display counter and pale yellow walls.  The food was cheap and basic, but it was good to have when I was coming home from work, and I knew all the people who worked there.  That sense of familiarity was nice.  That night it was Jack, whose face I knew by heart—pale, with perpetual stubble and a big nose, brown eyes and a shaved head, probably because he was balding anyway.  I loved being able to see him in my mind long before I ever saw him in the flesh.

The radio was on as I went in, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.  Jack was leaning on the counter, eyes closed, listening as Otis Redding sang about a dock.  Only one other person was with us in the drowsy warmth—Aaron, a tall, lanky black man, who had come in through the other entryway, seconds after I did.  He looked the same as ever, even in different clothes, even with the precious beard he had been cultivating suddenly shaved.  It might have been late, but his dark brown eyes were entirely awake, scanning the café with an almost vicious awareness.  It was familiar by now.  You got to know people, taking the ferry at the same time.

Jack’s eyes didn’t open until after Aaron knocked on the glass case that had held crappy pastries up until a couple of hours ago.  “Hey, wake up,” he said.  “I’m thirsty.”

Jack’s eyes opened, but he rolled them at Aaron before straightening up.  He reminded me of my father—never wanted to get anything done, not at a quick pace anyway.  “Yeah, yeah, what’ll it be?” he asked.  He didn’t need to.  Aaron never consulted the yellow menu above Jack’s head, he always asked for—

“Beer.  Bud Lite.”

“Lite? We goin’ on a diet?” Jack asked as he turned around in the small space to fill Aaron’s order.  He didn’t bother to ask for ID—probably illegal, but Jack didn’t care; he knew by now how old Aaron was.  The younger man dug a few bills out of the pockets of his jeans.  He didn’t treat the pants very well—they were ripped all over, and not in the designer way.

Aaron scowled at him.  “I just figured I’d try it.”

“Right,” said Jack, turning back around with the beer.  They exchanged alcohol and cash, and Aaron, Bud Lite in hand, came and sat down next to me.  He spun on the red seat for a second, and appeared to notice me for the first time as he whizzed around.

“Hey there, Diane.”

“Lark.”  I’d made the mistake, once, of telling him my first name, and since then he’d refused to call me by my middle one.

“Yeah, yeah.”  He popped the top off his beer and took a drink.  “How’s Maxie?”

“Fine.”

“He home alone?”

“Of course not,” I snapped.  Aaron knew I’d never leave my son home alone.  “The Brysons’ daughter—Rosie—is watching him ‘til I get home.”

“Don’t think I know her.”

I just shrugged in response.  He didn’t have to know her.

“So, Diane…” I grimaced, and he caught it and grinned.  “How was work?”

“Fine… Not bad for once, actually.  We had a couple bad customers, but it wasn’t hard.”  It hadn’t been slow either, thankfully.  It was never a good day for my bank account when Benny’s was slow.  “What about you?”

He took a long, casual swig of his beer before answering.  “Kokomo” came on as he began to speak.  “It was okay…”

We conversed, casual, as the Beach Boys crooned, him drinking his beer and me just sitting there.  Jack dropped a word in every now and then, but mostly he was focused on an unusual number of ferry riders coming in and out, asking for beers and sodas and the few sad sandwiches still left.

Aaron was about to ask me something when the song on the radio changed to one I didn’t recognize.  At least, I didn’t—but Aaron did.  His face lit up, and he set his half-empty beer down.  “This is one’a my favorite songs!” he told me.

“What is it?”

“’Stars Fell On Alabama’.”  He pronounced the title with an exaggerated Southern accent, and I smiled.

He stood up and held his hand out.

“Huh?” I blinked once as he jabbed his hand a bit in my direction.  “What?”

“Dance.  Do you want to dance?”

For some reason, I looked past him.  Jack was grinning at me, and winked; I looked back at Aaron, hoping I wasn’t flushing.  “Uh…” I made a split-second decision, and took his hand.  “Sure.”

Aaron pulled me to my feet, and then to him.  He put one hand on my waist; the other clasped my hand, and instinctively I put my free hand on his shoulder.

It was awkward at first, but we got into it, dancing around the little café.  A couple of people came in and stared as they ordered from Jack, but even though I was embarrassed, Aaron didn’t seem to care.  As he danced, he hummed the song, the sound soft in the quiet of the café, his gaze far away.  It seemed like he was looking through me.  I didn’t mind.  That made it less embarrassing.

I don’t know whether it was because of my embarrassment that the dance felt like it lasted for hours, or because, despite it all, I was enjoying it.  No one had asked me to dance for the last few years—not since high school.  I’d always liked it, and Aaron was a good dancer, leading but not forceful, his calloused palm soft against my waist.

When the song ended, he didn’t let me go for a minute, his eyes now on me instead of the wall.  The radio fuzzed, losing connection for just a moment.

Finally he released me, and smiled down at me.  “That was fun.”

The ferry began to dock at that moment.  “Yeah.  Thanks.”

He nodded, and picked up his beer again as he headed out.  “Say hi to Maxie, Lark.  Have a nice night.”

“Night, Jack.  You too.”  And out I went, through the other entryway, the two of us leaving the café the same way we had come in.

The stars were overhead as I left the ferry, and, even though I knew it was silly, I wondered briefly if they were falling on Alabama tonight.