She turns away from me and heads toward the door.
I deflate.
I didn’t commit her face to memory, and I don’t like the thought of her leaving without me, being able to remember the exact shape of the mouth that was just on mine.
I push out of the booth and follow her.
She can’t get the door open. She jiggles the handle and tries to push it like she can’t get away from me fast enough. I want to beg her to stay, but I also want to help her get away from me, so I pull down on the top lock while reaching in front of her with my foot to push up on the floor lock. The door opens and she spills outside.
She inhales a big gulp of air and then spins and faces me. I scan her mouth, wishing I had a photographic memory.
Her eyes are no longer the same color as her shirt. They’re a lighter green now because she’s tearing up. Once again I find myself not knowing what to do. I’ve never seen a girl so all over the place in such a short amount of time, and none of it feels forced or dramatic. With every move she makes and every feeling she has, it’s as if she wants to reel them back in and tuck them away.
She seems embarrassed.
She’s gasping for breath, trying to wipe away the few tears that are beginning to form, and since I have no idea what the fuck to say, I just hug her.
What else can I do?
I pull her to me, and for a second, she stiffens, but that’s almost immediately followed up by a sigh as she relaxes.
We’re the only people around. It’s after midnight, everyone is home sleeping, watching a movie, making love. But I’m here on Main Street, hugging a really sad girl, wondering why she’s sad, wishing I didn’t think she was so beautiful.
Her face is pressed against my chest, and her arms are tight around my waist. Her forehead comes right up to my mouth, but she’s tucked under my chin.
I rub her arms.
My truck is right around the corner. I always park in the alley, but she seems upset and I don’t want to encourage her to follow me to an alley when she’s crying. I lean against an awning post and pull her with me.
Two minutes pass, maybe three. She doesn’t let go. She molds against me, soaking up the comfort my arms and chest and hands are giving her. I’m rubbing her back, up and down, my voice still trapped in my throat.
Something is wrong with her, something I’m not sure I even want to know at this point, but it’s something I can’t just leave her on the sidewalk and drive away from.
I don’t think she’s crying anymore when she says, “I need to go home.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
She shakes her head and pulls away from me. I keep my hands on her arms, and I notice when she folds her arms over her chest that she touches my right hand with two of her fingers. It’s just a quick swipe, but it’s deliberate, like she wants to get one last tiny feel of me before she leaves.
“I don’t live far. I’ll walk.”
She’s crazy if she thinks she’s walking home. “It’s too late to be walking by yourself.” I point toward the alley. “My truck is ten feet away.” For obvious reasons, that gesture makes her hesitate, but then she accepts the hand I’m reaching out to her, and she follows me around the corner.
When my truck comes into view, she stops walking. I turn around, and she’s staring at my truck with concern in her eyes.
“I can call you an Uber if you’d prefer that. But I swear, I’m just offering you a ride home. No expectations.”
She looks down at her feet, but continues walking toward my truck. I open my passenger door for her, and when she climbs inside, she doesn’t face forward. She’s still facing me, and her legs are preventing me from closing the door. She’s looking at me like she’s torn. Her eyebrows are drawn apart. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone look so effortlessly sad.
“Are you okay?”
She leans her head against the seat and stares at me. “I will be,” she says quietly. “Tomorrow is a big day for me. I’m just nervous.”
“What’s tomorrow?” I ask her.
“A big day for me.”
She obviously doesn’t plan on elaborating, so I nod, respecting her privacy.
Her focus moves to my arm. She touches the hem of my sleeve, so I put my hand on her knee because I want it somewhere on her, and her knee seems like the safest place until she lets me know where else she might want my hand.
I don’t know what her intentions are. Most people show up to bars and make their intentions clear. You can tell who comes in for a hookup and who comes in to get shit faced.