Volume 1, Issue 3 & 4 - Diverse Voices Quarterly

“Aaron’s good. The puppy’s growing fast, so we have to keep an eye on him.”
Brutus loves to chew this damn ottoman that she gave Aaron, and I had to plastic
wrap the legs so she wouldn’t come over and see teeth marks in it. I didn’t tell her
that, though.
She looked over at Jason. “Who’s your friend?”
I stared at Jason and shrugged. “Just a friend of mine, a coworker—”
“Oh, hi,” she said and smiled. She threw her long red hair over her shoulder as
she shook Jason’s hand and looked back over at me. “Is Aaron here? I know he
doesn’t like coffee.”
“No, he’s at home, but he knows I’m here,” I lied.
“Oh, okay.” She paused, took a heavy breath, and looked down at the rows of
sugar packets as I stared at her, trying not to blink. “Well, I have to run, but be safe,
okay? It’s starting to snow.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder again. “Tell Aaron I
say hi,” she said. Then she turned and walked to the coat rack by the front door.
I looked out the windows in front. Just flurries, nothing serious. Cabs definitely
run in worse. I turned back to Jason, and we just looked at each other. Then Jason
went to stirring his coffee. I stared down at the floor tiles and let my mind draw lines
between the brown dots.
“So I was thinking,” Jason said, his hands on the table in front of him, “that if
you want to swing by my place after this, I could show you those videos and you’d
have a cheaper cab fare. Plus, the traffic here is going to be killer in a few minutes.”
I looked at him, wondering if he was up to something. But then I figured if he
was going to bring up cheaper cab fare from his place and all that, he must have
known I was going home and not to his bed. Besides, if I went with him, it would give
me a chance to find things about the apartment that were better when I lived there—
somebody told me that helps with closure.
The cold outside hit me hard, so I dug my stocking cap out from my bag and
pulled it down over my ears. Jason just huddled his head down and took big steps
through the flakes of snow, all the way down the ten-block stretch to his apartment.
When we got to his front door, I couldn’t feel my toes or fingers and if I crossed
my eyes, I could see how red my nose was. I hopped up and down to try and get more
blood into my legs. He pulled his keys out.
“Cold?” He looked at me and laughed.
“A little.” I kept hopping.
“Come on, let’s warm up.” He swung open the door and flicked on the lights to
the front room. It was that same old apartment, same ratty green couch, same goddamn
pictures of fruit hanging by the door. I peeked my head into the bathroom as he
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 3 & 4 95