Bay City Runaway – Part 2

Bay City Runaway – Part 1

Note from the author:  I don’t know if this is a series or not, but Amy and Brian have unfinished business.  Not sure what.

Union Square San Francisco - Rain - Navid Baraty

I’d lost and gained my innocence a thousand times in this city.  In dark, tucked away bars.  In the merciful shade of ancient, pristine redwood trees.   Against the cold brick of stinking alleyways.  In the vibrations of  voices grand and elegant.  Shaking off the chill of the street with a hot Irish coffee.  In a whiff of burning tobacco.  With arms wrapped around another lonely soul.  Lost one night.  Found another.  My life had been a symphonic blur of the sacred and profane ever since the divorce.

It was late afternoon and damp.  I was walking home from work.   I hadn’t seen her since I’d found her at my door at 3am on a Tuesday night, a runaway.  Was she lost now or still running?   She had said that I was the runaway before nodding off to sleep on my couch cradled in a woolen Indian blanket.  Now she waited for the light to change with a cigarette dangling from her slender fingers, a green canvas backpack slung over her shoulder.

I hesitated.  Would she even recognize me.  The light turned green.  I called her name, “Amy!”

She glanced my way and lurched across the street with strides as long as she could management.  I crossed over to her side of the street to try to slow her down enough to exchange a few words.  But what did we have to say?  We knew nothing of each other.  She slept on my couch one night.  She was gone before I awoke.

“Hey, wait up!”

She turned and fixed my eyes with a fierce stare.  ”What do you want?”

“I’m not sure your remember me, but-”

“You’re Brian.  You bummed me a cigarette, I slept on your couch.  What of it?”

“You just took off.  You could have at least said goodbye or how bout a thank you?”

“Thank you.”  She turned to walk on.

“Wait, what are you doing right now?  Can I buy you a cup of coffee. “

She stopped and turned away from me shaking her head, as if to herself.  ”Ok,” she said with her back still to me, “But I don’t owe you anything.  I appreciate you helping me,”  she turned to face me, “but I don’t need anything else from you.”  She took a drag from her cigarette, dropped it, and stamped it out.

We stepped into a little cafe on the corner, owned by a Lebanese friend of mine.  ”Farid!  How are you?  Can I get two regular coffees, black.”

“Sure thing, boss.  You want that served in golden tea cups or are these old second hand mugs ok for his majesty?”

“Very funny.  If it’s not too much trouble,  we’ll just take it over here in the corner.”

I turned around and she was gone.  I took my seat and wondered if I would see her again.  But just as I was deciding that she had duped me, she emerged from the restroom and joined me.

I took a moment just to take her in.  She’d grown a layer of toughness since that late night weeks before.  The bruise on her left cheek was mostly healed.  She boldly returned my gaze, unflinching.   Dark eyes, dark wavy hair, and dark brooding eyebrows.  Her face was young, but her eyes stared back at me with a maturity beyond her years.  In that moment, I saw her beauty.

“I wondered if I’d dreamed you.  I woke up and you were at my door, then I woke up the next morning and you were gone.

“I’m no one’s dream girl,” she said.

” You said something to me.  I asked you why you turned to me for help.  Do you remember what you said?”

She shook her head,  her eyes still, dark pools.

“You said you thought I was running away, too.”

She closed her eyes for a second then said, “Look.  I don’t know what kind of middle-aged crisis you’re going through, but I can’t help you.”

Farid dropped two coffee mugs on the table and made a little clucking sound with his tongue, as was his habit.

What did I expect?  She’s just a kid.  What could she possibly know about me?  I wasn’t running away from anything.  Was I?  This was the life I chose.  I wasn’t fit for marriage.  I wasn’t fit for anyone.  Nor would I ever be.

I raised my mug, “Cheers”

She let out a long breath and raised her mug to mine.  ”Cheers.”

Our toast was followed by a long silence.  We sipped our coffees and stared out of the window at the passersby and at a black man asking for change with one of Farid’s mugs.

“So what’s with you?  Do you have a place to stay?  Are you ok?  Do you need some cash?”

The city was growing grayer as she sipped her coffee, perhaps considering her next move.

“Buy me dinner,” she said without looking away from the window.

I was stunned.  ”How old are you?” I asked.

She snickered, unsmiling.  ”How old are you?”

“Ok.  Dinner it is.”

Perhaps she pitied me.    Perhaps she was just hungry.  Perhaps I was the lost one.  Whatever it was, I was hungry, too, and for just a little while, I thought I might find solace in a lonely world with this girl who wasn’t really a girl.  Two runaways.

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