Blood Circulation (or If I Had Your Name)

Chapter V: Touch and Go

One encounter was enough, I would have told myself. There was always the talk of Hal that came to mind: that those who want to be better must let go of the old and dangerous habits. I never got around to asking him what dangerous habit he was referring to. Was it my foul mouth? My dumb hatred for handsome men? Or was it my courage to flirt with any woman I come across to? I thought long and hard about what Hal said sometimes. Truly. While I can recognize the lesson he was trying to tell me, I'm afraid that, like my old assignments and lessons, I have forgotten about it – and while I can blame the universe for all the problems it gave me, sometimes, like now, I wonder if this was another trick, another attempt to teach me a lesson, to see if I did understand anything.

"Hey, Tasha," and just like that, all of my time reflecting on being better gone. Nice going, me.

"Enjoying the sights, I hope," she replied, her voice as sultry as I remember, it evokes a certain... kind of excitement within me, like the kind that could make you do anything. Though, I can't help but notice something... odd in her voice.

"Y-Yes, Ma'am" – my eyes found her chest, but then my mind slapped me back to her face – "I mean, with the museum, yes, I am."

It was her eyes next – her sword-grey eyes – that began to trace me. I get mean looks most of the time, but the way she moved her eyes – a kind of calculating slowness – kept me guessing, and my instincts told me to be careful. From... what exactly? I can't tell. In the quiet, never did I imagine that I'd be afraid when a woman checks me out. It was also in the quiet did I notice that her eyes seemed to twinkle aimlessly. It's as if she's suppressing it from speaking something. Could... Could she be interested in me? Don't be ridiculous, you dumb fuck. Who would want a toxic guy like you? Certainly not Laura.

"Everything alright with the field trip so far?" she said, again her voice synonymous with her eyes. I just can't place it.

"If I'm honest, it's a little mixed," I replied, my shoulders sagging.

"Honesty," she said as if she was tasting the word. "Can I ask for more of your... honesty?" A thin smile appeared on her face.

"Sure thing, beautiful." Really nice going there, chum. Really nice.

She gestured for me to follow her, passing more glasses cases, figurines, stuffed animals both large and small, and pottery along the way. On the farthest side, there was an iron door and through the crack of it, I caught a glimpse of an area with similar furnishings to this museum but it seemed empty. Must be the renovated room Hal mentioned earlier. Why the university didn't consider a proper museum tour if they're trying to make us thoughtful of our independence, I'll never know. But what I do know is that Natasha is as mysterious to me as she was when I flirted with her a few days ago.

There was something in her ghostly smile that ticked my instincts to the maximum, however, telling me to be careful, which I still ignored. I mean, this is me we're talking about. When she stopped moving, I take it that we'd arrived at our destination. It was a tall and wide glass case on a large stage. The stage was enclosed by a circle of red curtains with a thin gold plate prominently placed in front of it.

The plate reads: "No Exceptions."

When I glanced up, two slim glass sheets were sandwiching three things. On the left side was a man's military uniform, its right shoulder marred and burned, its chest area peppered with spots I take to be dried bloodstains and tiny holes. On the right, a woman's uniform, and, on closer inspection, looked like it was ripped open in the middle, sending me further unease at the suggestion. Lastly, in-between the two uniforms was a small dirty rag.

"Well then," Natasha finally said after some time, "Humor me, Wyeth, even for a little bit. Any idea what this exhibit represents?"

I knew the answer, of course. I hate everything about it. I didn't think they'd bring this piece here. If it was some math test, I'd flunk – or better yet, sleep during the exam. But you don't need a high-school diploma to know what this is.