Come and Walk With Me

Though told in the first person, this is not my story, but that of a friend who wishes to remain anonymous.

It was late, bars had just closed. I’d been out with a couple friends, but somehow found myself alone in the emptying street. Later, I’d find out that my buddies had filched a bike and rode home in a flurry of catcalls. But for now, it was just me, somewhat trashed, but with my wits about me. I stopped under a street lamp to light a cigarette. Marlboro Lights, same as my mom smokes. As I fumbled around in my pockets for a lighter—goddamn, I hope I got it back from that drunk prick who’d needed a light—a girl stumbled into me. Across the street, the queue for the late-night dumpling restaurant was spilling into the streets, as people angled for a better spot in line.

The girl was leaning against the street lamp, her chin lolling against her chest. She looked familiar; was she the one I’d talked with about dogs? Or maybe the one who’s in my Holocaust class? I certainly hadn’t bought her a drink. I took a drag from my cig and looked her up and down. Long curly brown hair, dark like milk chocolate, fell over her shoulders. Her boobs unceremoniously spilling out of the sides of her cut-off t; blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, accented by American-flag-patterned Toms on her feet. You okay? I asked, taking another drag.

She looked up, a light having been turned on upstairs. Hey, you got an extra smoke? I pulled out my pack, but she just reached out for the half-smoked cigarette dangling from my lips. Standing up straight, she inhaled deeply and the cigarette back in my grasp, placed her arms akimbo. You don’t want your own? Nah, I don’t smoke.

 I looked at her quizzically. I’m kinda drunk, she said.

 Where do you live, I’ll walk you home.

  I don’t know—emitting a goofy giggle—I’m supposed to go to a wedding tomorrow. I’m not from here… I’m a bit fucked up. The cigarette had been smoked down to a smoldering nub and I needed to take a leak and was aching for the leftover pizza in my fridge. Let’s start walking, and uh, maybe you’ll remember where you’re staying. I can call your friends?

We started walking down the street and as we walked, she slipped her right arm into my left. I reached for another smoke, my thoughts slipping away. The fingers of her free hand were sliding up my arm. Having trouble walking straight, she kept bumping into me. Ya know, I’ll sleep with you if you want—like, I mean, I need a place to stay and like—that giggle again—I don’t mind sharing a bed…

Laughing, I offered her a drag. We were almost back to my place and I decided to let her comment slide into the past. I led her in the door and onto the back porch, offering her some water. She preferred a half-finished bottle of Bold Rock which had been left on the table from the pre-game. Entertained by one of my roommates, I hopped the stairs two at a time to ask the clean-living sage of the flat for advice. He gamboled down the stairs to join the burgeoning party on the back porch. When pressed for information, the girl plead ignorance, seemingly content to be on a porch with a few guys.                 

It must’ve been past 4 in the morning when I finally gave up on the night. Two of the three roommates had already gone to bed. It was just me, the girl, and Michael. As I stumbled upstairs, leaving the two of them behind, I could hear her offering her services a second time.