See You Soon

Text: "See you soon <3"

 

He left in the middle of Dave's party, in the middle of Paul's story, just to see to this text. All the guys understood. They would have done the same thing. It was, after all, a text from a girl.

Right off the front stoop he realized he wasn't sure where in the city he was. He knew he was pretty far north (maybe far west?). He was fifteen minutes' walking distance from any train (why would anyone live up here? Just 'cause it's cheap?) and he didn't know the buses well enough. The horrible indicator on his phone told him he had but minutes of battery life left, and he had to conserve what he could. So he just started running. The half-dozen beers he had downed gave him a superhuman speed (so he felt), and just enough I don't care what any of these people think of me to propel him down the street.

Text: "Where r u?" He was running, baby, he was running.

He got to a busy intersection that looked somewhat familiar, and threw his arm in the air. A taxi pulled up within seconds, a big minivan number, and he felt almost bad being its fare. When he opened the door he saw that the taxi van was made especially for people in wheelchairs, and then he felt really bad. Or as bad as a horny drunkard can feel when he's terribly out of breath. These feelings did not last long, however, and soon he was on his way.

Text: "..." What does that even mean?!

He checked the distance. Good lord, it was a ways. He looked online to see what the cost of the cab would probably be. This cabbie better take a card, and tonight better be good. His buzz was fading. He hoped she had booze. Of course she would have booze! Who doesn't have some drinks prepared for a night like this?

Of course the card reader took forever. Do you want a copy of your receipt? I want my card back, guy!

He got to the door and halted. Three apartments marked with only last names. Her last name, her last name, her last name... He checked his phone (dead). He checked the corners of his brain (unusable). He remembered some mentioning of hauling her mattress up three flights of stairs (bingo!) and buzzed Number 3.

He buzzed. And buzzed. And buzzed again.

And eventually he saw feet. Feet connected to legs connected to a giant The Cure T-shirt. It was her, all right. Her hair was slightly matted, she had a creased cheek. She opened the door, squint-eyed.

"What are you," she said, "what, who are you?"

"You were texting me?" he said.

"Yeah...?" she said.

"You told me to come here...?"

She was not amused. "That was, like, an hour ago."

"Yeah," he defended, "but... I told you it would take an hour or something to get here. So..."

She waited. "So...?"

He waited. "So..."

She was done. She shut the door and walked back up the three flights. How much had that cab cost him again? It wasn't important. He was near his neighborhood now. He thought. He would find out. The walk would do him good. If nothing else, he would work off that alcohol.