Cindy waved, but I pretended not to see her face in the crowd. There she goes again with her goofy grin, waves flailing and I looked right past her. She smiled as I walked without any hint of recognition. I think she thought I was joking. I wasn’t. I said I didn’t want to see her again.
Carl told her I was coming back home for the holidays. I hate the fucking holidays. I hailed a taxi and asked for the nearest liquor store.
“What’s ailing you?” the driver asked, turning down his radio.
I didn’t want to answer this, because what was ailing me was none of his business. I just wanted to close my eyes, ignore the smell of the backseat and ponder the likeliness that there might be dried blood on the carpet.
“I guess it’s the holidays.”
He nodded, turned up the death metal and we drove. I didn’t stare into the night sky. No amount of hopefulness was going to cheer me up. I didn’t want to wish on stars or live in a romantic comedy.
I sort of wanted to stab this cabbie and speed off into the night. I realized that was a pretty sinister thought and immediately started thinking about Santa Claus and his elves and Cindy wearing a thong and oh my god, when did I become a pervert?
Maybe I should have said hello.
Twenty-five dollars later, I was on the sidewalk outside a small convenience store. I didn’t want booze. I craved companionship. All of a sudden. I don’t know. Maybe it was the Santa bullshit, but I was suddenly feeling okay.
The shit year didn’t really matter. My dog dying, Cindy cheating on me and flunking at life mostly. I still had a shitty job and vacation days and all new city to explore, but here I was, Christmas Eve…zipping my fly up in the middle of a neighborhood I’d never seen before…wishing for something to happen.
Then just like in the movies, Cindy drove up in a red VW something and offered me a ride. I took it. Like old times. For old times.
I wasn’t moving back, but forward.
And in a few days, I’d be gone again. No Cindy. Exactly how I wanted it.
Right?
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