Someplace Like Home |n.j

34.

I roll to face the other side of my bed with a stretch. Smacking my lips, and I settle myself back down to sleep some more. A familiar scent suddenly travels up my nose and I snap my eyes open immediately. But I'm met with nothing but the emptiness of my bed.

It won't be long before her scent goes away too. It's just barely lingering around. I'll have to wash the sheets soon. I've been reluctant to do that. She's been away for weeks now, maybe I'm even imagining the scent. Maybe even that's long gone already.

I sit myself up against the wall and drag my hand over my face. Looking out the window, I hear people on the streets hustling. It should be around noon. Everybody's running around to make use of their lunch break.

I crack the bubbles out of my neck and gaze at the red ashtray resting on my coffee table. She said not to pack it in her suitcase, so I brought it home with me. I hope she didn't end up buying a new one. I have a lot of things that can remind me of her. Some of her clothes are still hiding in the back of my closet. And I've got that photo of her at the manga store. It's in the drawer of my nightstand.

I stretch over to pull out the drawer and find the photo right where I left it. I take it out and just simply stare at it. It's nice to know that she has the same photo of me. I sneaked a bracelet in her luggage before she left. I wonder if she found it. She could be wearing it now.

If she hadn't left behind so many things, I could just about believe that I imagined her. It's possible. When someone's taken a path away from your life without leaving behind a phone number, or any of that sort, it's hard not to think that. It's hard enough to imagine that I once could know someone so beautiful.

She's the most beautiful person on this dull planet. Now that I wake up every day without her next to me, I know how truly lucky I was. Maybe if I knew sooner, I would sneak in a few more kisses, or tell her I love her a few more times.

I wonder where she is right now. She didn't look for anywhere to live in confidence that her mother would accept her. They have a complicated relationship. But it's comforting that as broken as it gets, it'll never truly break. There's always something stringing them together, even if the thread is so thin you cannot see it. At least it's still there.

The last time I saw my own mother, I took the train just to give her this horrible speech. It sounded better when I rehearsed it with Nami. I didn't even get inside the house, I stayed at the porch, did my little act, and just left. I wasn't really keen on hearing her response, that's not what I needed anyway. I just needed her to hear what I wanted to say.

Nami's taught me a lot, and it's even more obvious now that she's gone. I used to be such a miserable little child. It's a little comedic really, looking back. She's made me passionate about life. I was oftentimes so angry with her, and other times so lovestruck I just couldn't stop my cheeks from flaming. It's like she touched me and suddenly I was no longer colorblind. I must've been colorblind before I met her.

Her not being around just leaves me with a pile of unanswered questions. Is she happy right now? Is she eating well? Did she quit smoking? Has she met her childhood friends yet? Is her mother alright?

Does she miss me?

***

"...Miss,"

I believe I was here nearly a year ago.

"It is one in the morning, and our bar must close now. You need to leave."

The lady refused to budge as she stayed unconscious on the bar table. With a heavy exhale, I step out of my bar and go around so I can stand behind her. I poke the drunk stranger's arm. Nothing.

I just want to get home and sleep. It's customers like these that really get on my nerves. They come here and think the world revolves around them, they think they can just get drunk and let us take care of the rest. I hate it more when they puke. What they drank was our craft. And they just let it all go to waste.

"You're being really unsympathetic," I crossed my arms.
"Where do you live? I'll get you a cab."

Nothing.

Jesus Christ. I'm not doing this. I step outside and look down the street with my toes on the curb. A yellow vehicle in the distance seemed to have spotted me waving when it slowed down. The taxi stops right before where I stand. I bend down while the taxi driver rolls the window.

"I've got a lady in the bar, could you wait here while I get her?"

The man seemed understanding when he nodded. I quickly head back inside and find the woman right where I left her. Unconscious, drunk, and maybe even dead. I hook my arms under her armpits and drag her with me as I walked backwards towards the front door. She smells like shit. My struggle continued until I finally shoved her in the back seat of the taxi.

I pat the roof of the vehicle and bend down once more to look at the taxi driver. Can I trust him? I shift my gaze to the woman sitting in the back.

Unconscious, drunk, and maybe even dead.

I turn my back to the taxi driver and let out a grunt of frustration. I don't get paid enough for this. I open the door to the front passenger seat and get myself inside.

I cross my arms, "Take us to the nearest motel."

It's two in the morning by the time I got the lady a motel room and successfully had her sleeping on the bed safely. I didn't pay for her, I used the money in her wallet to pay for the night.

"Thank you so much," I told the taxi driver who was willing to wait outside until I had the lady settled down. I told him the address of my studio and leaned my head against the window, watching the buildings pass by as street lights shined so brightly I could only squint.

I roll down the window and let the wind brush through my hair. I close my eyes and let out a soft sigh. It's quiet. The old man next to me drove attentively in silence. I don't mind not talking.

I'm thinking of quitting my job.

There was a woman that was drunk at the bar today, Nami. She slept with her head on the table until closing time. She was such a headache to deal with, just like you were.

Nothing about her resembled you.

But she made me miss you, so much.