the lone surfer…unfinished…part five

03 Aug 2009 Leave a Comment

by nooshk in stories Tags: stories, writing

The local Chinese take-out is about a fifteen minute walk from the house. I like the walk, after being inside most of the day it feels good to get out and get moving. The streets are busy with holiday makers, choosing restaurants, shopping for gifts, having pre dinner drinks. They get in my way, making me pause and stumble, interrupting my flow. Eventually, as I reach a quieter area, they thin out, only a few remain, trying to look like locals. Then I see it, on the corner, Ming Kee, the lights on, the windows steamed up. I push open the door and a chime rings out announcing my arrival. It’s pretty quiet, I think as I stand in line. A couple of teenagers wait at one of the plastic tables in the corner; they are drinking cans of soda and counting their money, all chipping in handfuls of coins. One has his hat on backwards; one is wearing rollerblades and the other holding a skateboard. For a second they remind me of Jed, especially the one in the hat. I shake my head to clear the image of my brother that appears in my mind and focus on the task in hand. There is just one person in front of me; I don’t notice him until after he has ordered and he turns around. I’m looking at the floor and it’s shoes I notice first, those dirty sneakers from this afternoon. I look up and there are the faded jeans, vest, shirt and then the orange hair. He meets my eyes and half smiles before sitting down to wait for his food. I’m not sure he even recognised me but now I feel thrown, I don’t want to make polite conversation, I haven’t come here to make friends. It’s my turn now and the young girl behind the counter is waiting, pen poised to take down my order, but now I’m not even sure I want to stay. Half of me just bolted out of the door and the other half of me still really wants some noodles. In the end my tummy wins out and I order my food, not daring to turn around in case the random guy from next door tries to strike up a conversation. In the end I shouldn’t have bothered worrying; his order is ready before mine. I notice he has ordered a set menu for six people, and he leaves the take-out without a second glance in my direction, and then five minutes later I too am out of there, walking home, carrying my food in a plastic bag.

When the old navy blue car slows down next to me, I should have been surprised, but I’m not. Sometimes you just get a feeling that wasn’t how the evening was going to end. The passenger window is open, “Hey” he says, slowing the car right down. “You live next door, right? Can I give you a ride home?” I stop walking and look at him, it’s the same guy alright, that orange hair. He is driving with one hand on the wheel and I notice his food on the back seat and the glowing tip of a cigarette in his left hand.

“I’m ok thanks,” I reply “I like walking”.

“Oh ok” he says. I can’t help but notice he sounds disappointed “but I’m right aren’t I?  You do live next door, I’ve seen you sitting out on your porch at night.” He has totally stopped the car by now and is leaning over the passenger seat. “Yeah that’s me” I answer and push my hands into my jean pockets, rocking back on my heels, “I’ve seen you too, and your guitar” I add, as an afterthought. He laughs, and self consciously pushes his hair back, “right yeah, that’s me, me and my guitar.” I smile, not sure what to say next. He looks embarrassed and nervously clears his throat. “Well,” he says, “better get this food back to the hungry troops back home, sure you don’t want to jump in?” I pretend to look like I’m thinking about it, “I’m sure I say, like I said I like walking.”

“Right ok,” he says and starts the engine again; I step away from the kerb and have started walking, taken two steps when he speaks again. “I’m Ben” he says, just that, and then with a roar from the engine he is gone, just his tail lights in the distance. I stand still, just for a moment. I take a deep breath and whisper “and I’m Lydia.” As I walk home, I remember, I didn’t even notice if he had freckles, I had forgotten to look.

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