All the words I felt like writing about him could have been posted online, but the opinion would have been biased, and I was sure that wouldn’t have gone over well.
And the truth…
I didn’t even want to be here.
That’s why I went around back after leaving. To slip away into the night and be forgotten. Take everything I had with me and go home to write up something so cliché it would only serve to prove why I stopped writing a long time ago.
The only thing I had was a note I found on the ground.
This folded up piece of paper that was none of my business but had been just sitting there. The one corner slowly trying to unfold with the softest of a breeze.
I picked it up and kept walking.
I unfolded it to see if it was something important. Money. Credit Cards. Something with someone’s name, so I could return it. Or maybe I was hoping for a story. Something to save the night for me.
As I turned the corner, I opened the piece of paper all the way.
I saw handwriting.
And it was very clear that this was an actual letter.
To Delilah,
No matter how hard I try to forget, each time I close my eyes, I see you. I see you standing in a blue dress at the top of a hill on a spring afternoon, surrounded by daisies. The way you reached down and gently touched them, not wanting to touch too hard. Your heart floated around you faster than the clouds that made the wind grab your hair.
I looked up.
This was… a love letter.
Right?
A love letter to someone named Delilah.
I then had two choices.
Put the letter back where I found it in case someone retraced their steps to find it.
Or keep reading the letter.
And find out what happened to Delilah.
Chapter 2
A Bridge to the Secrets
NOW
(Josh)
I watched the sun climb from the horizon while the rest of the town seemed to be sleeping. From my apartment window, I watched as lights came on one by one. Those waking for work or for school, families coming back to life for another day of being a family. If I shut my eyes and imagined it, I could smell the coffee, bagels warming up, the smooth cream cheese, even a hint of peanut butter in the air.
To my right was a blown-up photograph of a back alley. Dirty brick walls with a crooked ladder that was supposed to be a fire escape. A dumpster with one side of the lid propped open thanks to an old TV resting on top, filling it over the brim. My job was to take that photo and add my touch to it. Meaning just above the dumpster there was a window. Through that window was a clear blue sky. And at the top of the photo I added a pull chain light. The kind with a big, old bulb dangling from a twisted wire.
It was part of my sleepless night.
Getting that picture ready, along with several others.
At the same time, there was another reason for my sleeplessness.
I looked over my shoulder and grinned at the sight of the figure in my bed, curled up in my sheets.
The sun had finally flooded through the entire apartment and I shuffled to the bathroom to grab a quick shower.
By the time I was done and dressed, my bed was empty.
She stood at the same window I had been standing at, wearing a black button-down shirt of mine and nothing else. I knew that because of the pile of clothes on the floor. My fingertips had been all over those clothes, along with the smoothness of her skin. Not to mention other places that would leave her blushing.
“Morning,” I said.
She turned, showing me that the shirt wasn’t buttoned at all. She wore it masterfully to keep her chest covered yet showed enough skin to keep my full attention.
“No coffee?” she asked in an almost purring voice.
“I can give you five bucks and tell you where to get some,” I said as I walked to the bed and sat down.
I reached for my black boots and yawned.
“Is that your gentle way of telling me to get out of here?”
My hair fell in front of my face. I never liked it going beyond my eyes, but lately I had really lost the urge to care or worry about stuff like that.
I ran a hand through my hair and looked back at her.
“Shelly,” I whispered.
“Michelle,” she corrected.
“You didn’t mind me calling you Shelly last night. Or earlier this morning.”
“I was a different person then,” Michelle said.
“Yeah? Me too.”
I stood up and Michelle walked toward me with the intention of getting right back into bed.
She touched the scruff on my face and pouted her lips. “Fucking artists. The best in bed. The hardest to understand in the morning.”
“You knew what you were getting into,” I whispered.
“Yeah. I did.”
I peeled her hand off my face and leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“When I get back, you’ll be gone?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “But I’m keeping this shirt.”
“Deal.”
I turned and set my sights on the door.
Michelle was comfort, not love.
She knew it. Even when she tried to push the line a little.
Women like Michelle thought I was heartless.
Truth was, nobody knew what love really meant to me.
I scribbled on a napkin as Aaron paced outside Joey’s Roast. He was in a heated conversation with someone and I wasn’t sure who I felt worse for. Served me right for showing up on time to meet him. Aaron had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. We went all the way back to kindergarten when a kid named Scott made fun of his underwear and I punched Scott in the nose. I wasn’t allowed to go to school for a couple of days, but when I did get back, Scott was much quieter and Aaron brought me an extra snack from home as a thanks. When Aaron realized I had no snack with me, ever, he started bringing one every single day for me.
Our friendship was built on chocolate pudding.
And now it was sustained by him running a construction company even though he could barely use a hammer. He was book smart. Money smart. Geeky smart in a way that I never understood why he didn’t take off to some place like New York City, make tons of money and live a crazy life.
I guess that answer came in the form of Rae and Toby.
Rae was his girlfriend and Toby was his son.
Aaron had always wanted to be a family man.
I finished my little drawing on the napkin as two coffees were brought to the table.
A pretty blonde girl slid them gently on the table “Here you go.”
“Thanks, love,” I said and smiled at her.
Her cheeks went a dark shade of red.
“I think I know you,” she said.
Ah, shit. Did I sleep with her?
Maybe that wasn’t the proudest question to mentally ask myself, but whatever.
“Do you now?” I asked.
“You do those pictures and paintings together,” she said. “I’ve been to one of your shows.”
“Did you buy something?”
“No,” she said, her cheeks turning even redder.
“Thanks for the support then,” I said with a wink.
“I… I’m…”
“I’m just playing,” I said. “Here, take this.”