Their Days of Nights

24 : Say

Benjamin

It's almost midnight, so the house is quiet again, which is typical for a weekend.

Jessy is possibly getting ready to sleep after our short trip from the tennis court.

I go downstairs after I showered, make my usual sandwich (ham with tomato and lettuce), and watch something on the TV (a tennis match of some not-so-known players).

I turn it off the second I finish my snack. Then I go back to my room.

I sit down on my chair, open my laptop, and stare at it for seconds. I grab my earphones from the side of the desk and plug them in.

I notice my phone, which I left face down on my bed. I reach for it and check the screen. There are two missed calls, from about thirty-five minutes ago.

This is unusual.

I set aside my earphones and dial back her number.

It's ringing.

No answer.

I dial again.

She picks up.

"Kim! Sorry, I missed your calls."

I don't hear her reply, and it's noisy where she is.

Something gives me a bad feeling about this. "Where are you?" I ask.

I'm already away from my desk, wallet and house keys on my left hand, balancing the phone between my right cheek and shoulder, and heading out of the room.

"I dunno," she says, "but I want to leave. I don't even know why I'm here."

"Where are you?" I ask again, but I can only hear the uproar of party music and the rowdy voices of people.

"Kim?"

The noise on her end subsides a little, and I hear what sounds like a door closing. I'm already outside the garage and opening the door of the car.

"Kim? Are you still there?"

"Yep."

"Are you drunk?"

"Kind of." She sounds completely resigned.

I sigh, run my free hand on my face, and put my phone on speaker mode.

"Where exactly are you?" I ask.

"Wait."

It's noisy on her end again. There's a burst of annoyingly upbeat laughter from somewhere there. Then I hear her faint voice asking someone about that place.

"Global City," she says. "Where?"

There goes the incomprehensible chatter again.

"Corner of Seventh Avenue," she says directly to her phone, so I hear it clearly.

"Okay, I got it."

"Place is called Seventh Note."

"Stay where you are, okay? I'll be there in a few minutes. Just stay there...and drink some water."

*

Seventh Note is this misplaced modern cube-shaped building in front of a vacant lot or an empty park—it's late, so it's hard to tell the difference—and is side-by-side with other mid-rise commercial buildings.

Two men older than my parents walk back inside the huge glass doors (after a smoke break, I assume, as one of them carelessly throws a cigarette butt to the sidewalk). And a group of seemingly drunk late-adolescents bursts outside. One of them tries to steadily approach a large white van, which I can hear from where I am is their ride. It appears that the place attracts people from across generations.