Ache Read Free Page B

seventeen.”
    “Sweet,” I say.
    “I guess.  I’m looking forward to going to college though, you know — all that hard work?”  She looks pointedly at me.
    Not forgiven just yet.
    “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t judging you.  I get the hard work thing, I do.”
    “So why are you really here, Mister Connor Clay?” she asks again.
    “Really?  I was looking for beer and trouble, not necessarily in that order.”
    “You’re already drunk and it looks like trouble already found you, so where were you?”
    “I’m in a band.”
    “Yeah, I’d heard that.”
    I grin again.  It’s hard not to around her.  “Well, I was in a band I should say, not anymore.  We were playing over at the Holiday Lounge; we play there most every week.”
    “The Holiday Lounge?  Should that sound familiar?”
    “Yeah, it’s that pretentious jazz club over on twenty-third, behind the pharmacy.  Anyway, lots of posers show up there, smoking their clove cigarettes and drinking martinis.  They try to act cool, like they are in the scene, but they’re just trying to get lucky like rutting rodents.”
    “Rodents don’t rut, that’s deer,” she grins at me.
    “What-the-fuck-ever, they’re assholes — fake.”
    “If it’s a bar, how did you get in?  You’re not eighteen.”
    “I lied and they never carded me, besides, I think the rules bend some for the band.”
    “So what happened?” she asks.
    “The owner was being a dick, so I said to him, ‘why don’t you give children a break and go fuck yourself for a change.’”
    “You didn’t!  Why did you say that?” she asks in surprise.
    “That’s what our singer asked, why, why, why — why does there always have to be a ‘why' — sometimes shit just is.  He’s a creepy fuck.”
    “What did he say?”
    “He didn’t say anything, he punched me.  And then I threw a beer bottle at him, but I missed and it shattered the mirror behind the bar.  He told me he was calling the police, and then I told him he just assaulted a minor, so he told the band that either I was gone or they all were.  So they fired me.  I think that about sums it up.”
    “That sucks, but what did you expect?” she asks through a gentle laugh.
    “I didn’t expect anything.  Expecting shit is wasted effort, takes up too much time.  Spoils all the mystery.”
    “No expectations?  None?”
    “Nope.”
    “What about the consequences?”
    “Fuck consequences,” I say, spitting out more blood.
    “Feel better?” she asks glancing at the sidewalk where I spit.
    I laugh.  “Yeah, I got a pretty bad cut in my mouth.”
    She pouts for me slightly, but with an odd sincerity.  “I’m sorry.”
    I wave the apology off.
    “So, you don’t even have dreams, nothing?  I think that sounds like baloney,” she says.
    “I gave up hope when I was thirteen.  I remember the night like it was yesterday.  So, no, no dreams, no nothing.  Hope is fucking evil, I’m more into survival.”
    “Well, that sounds dramatic, I’ll give you that.  Maybe you need to work on your people skills.”
    “We can head over behind those bushes, and I can show you some people skills,” I say, leering at her.
    There I go again.  “I’m sorry, that was a dick thing to say.”
    She laughs and softly pats my shoulder.  “It’s fine.”
    She turns facing me and walks backward as she pulls me along by my hand.  “Think about it, we have our whole future ahead of us, all of those years and opportunities, nothing to hold us back but ourselves.  Now that is something to cherish.”  She gives me another one of those sideways glances.  “If we work at it, we can be whatever we want.”
    And she believes it.  I can see it in her eyes, even in the darkness, they sparkle with unimagined dreams and possibility.
    I am jealous of this.  “Maybe for some,” I say.
    She gives me a funny look and slips back by my side as we turn onto Fifth Avenue.  We walk in silence.  Her hand is warm and I can smell