with the train, I looked inside me.
Octavia’s street was wrapped in darkness. The lights from the houses were like torchlights. If I closed my eyes tight and opened them again, it looked like the houses were stumbling around in the dark, finding their way. At any moment I expected them to fade. Sometimes human shadows crossed through them, as I waited, just outside her front gate.
For a while, I imagined myself walking to the front door and knocking, but I stayed patient. For some reason, it didn’t seem right to go in. Not yet. I was dying for her to come out, make no mistake about that. Yet I knew that if I had to leave again without even a glimpse of her, I would. If I could do it for a girl who cared nothing for me, I could do it for Octavia.
In that one stolen second, I considered the Glebe girl. She entered my mind like a burglar, then vanished again, taking nothing. It was like the humiliation of the past had been taken instantly from my back and left somewhere on the ground. I wondered for a moment how I could stand outside her house so many times. I even laughed. At myself. She was erased completely a few minutes later when Octavia moved the kitchen curtain aside, and came out to meet me.
The first thing I noticed, before any words hit the air, was the shell. It was tied to a piece of string and was hanging around her neck.
“It looks good,” I nodded, and I reached out and held it in my right hand. “It does,” she agreed.
We went to the same park as the first night I came, but this time we didn’t sit on the splintered bench. This time we walked over the dewy grass and ended up stopping by an old tree.
“Here,” I said, and I gave Octavia the words I wrote the previous night in bed. “They’re yours.”
She read them and kissed the paper and held on to me for quite a while. I told her I loved the howling sound of her harmonica. That seemed to be the limit of my courage that night. I had to get back home, so I couldn’t stay too long. It was just nice to see her and touch her and give her the words.
When we made it back to the gate, I kissed her hand and left.
“e you this weekend?” she asked. “Definitely.”
“I’ll call you,” she said, and I was on my way.
At my place, when I returned, I was shocked to find Steve on our front porch, waiting for me.
“I was wondering how long I’d have to sit here,” he fired when I showed up. “I’ve been here an hour.”
I walked closer. “And? Why’d you come?”
“Come on,” he said, standing up. “Let’s go back up to my place.”
“I’ll just go in and —”
“I already told ‘em.”
Steve’s car was parked farther along the street, and after getting in, there were very few words spoken in the car. I turned the radio up but don’t remember the song.
“So what’s this all about?” I asked. I looked at him but Steve’s eyes were firmly on the road. For a while I was wondering if he’d even heard my question. He let his eyes examine me for a second or two, but he said nothing. He was still waiting.
When we got out of the car, he said, “I want you to meet someone.” He slammed the door. “Or actually, I want her to meet you.”
We walked up the stairs and into his apartment. It was empty.
“Looks like she’s in the shower,” he mentioned. He stood and made coffee and put a cup down in front of me. It still swirled, taking my reflection with it. Taking me down.
For a moment, I thought we were about to go through our usual routine of questions and answers about everyone back at home, but I could see him deciding not to do it. He’d been at our place earlier and found out for himself. It wasn’t in Steve’s nature to manufacture conversation.
I hadn’t been to watch him at football for a while, so I asked how it was going. He was in the middle of explaining it when Sal came out of the bathroom, still drying her hair.
“Hey,” she said to me.
I nodded, giving her half a smile.
That was when Steve stood up and looked at me, then at her. I knew right then that at some point, like