Page 39 of Cupid Calamity
She says, “I did crosswords and scrolled social media on a hard plastic chair, while I pined for my man and kept the home fires burning.” She laughs at her own joke.
I swell with pride even though it’s a joke. I know this all ends in a couple of hours, but for the first time in my life, I genuinely want to be someone’s man. I’m not sure I’m up to the task, but I could give it a shot. She makes me want to be worthy.
“The manager felt terrible he misread the situation.”
I cross my legs and scoot closer to my bars. The floor is cement, and I’m sure it’s caked in urine. I imagine every surface in here is caked in piss. My fucking pants are ruined. I glance down at my feet and remember they’re already destroyed from when I was set on fire and landed in a dirty puddle in the park.
I look at her shoe, still crooked with the remnants of my glove shredded on it. Her hair’s messy, her makeup is stale, and there’s a stubborn blotch on her neck. But her lip gloss looks fresh, which is adorable. If this is the way I remember her in the future, I’ll only ever think of her as stunning.
“You’re incredible,” I say.
“Because I can work a vending machine?”
I grin and reach for her hand.
“Yes. I think that makes you a tech genius. I’ll bet you’re in charge of something. You decide fates.”
Her eyes light up. “I do! I award college scholarships!”
“You DO make the world a better place by giving away someone else’s money. Guess what I do.” She never will. No one ever does, unless I begin to geek out over music and we’ve barely had time to talk between disasters.
“You use your humor and charm to convince people of things.”
I grin. I do. “I’m a DJ.”
“Wedding/Bar Mitzvahs?”
“I focus more on sweet-sixteen parties and golden anniversaries.” For the first time tonight, I think I got her. She looks super skeptical.
“No. Really?”
I shake my head, and her laugh takes over the room. “No. I have a show on the Spectrum channel of Sirius Satellite radio. It runs nine to midnight, Monday through Friday.” She squeezes my hand, and our eyes lock again. We’re staring at each other like idiots, but I can’t look away.
“What’s for dinner, honey?” She presents a Sprite and a Mountain Dew Major Melon. “What am I looking at?”
“The only pop left in the machine.” I grin as she says “pop.” That’s a midwestern thing. It might be too hard for me to learn any more of her details.
“What the fuck is Mountain Dew Major Melon?” I reach my hand out. “Let me be the gentleman and drink the mysterious, unpopular but still available, pop.”
“How chivalrous.”
“Do you still have Benadryl? We don’t know what the fuck is in this, I might convulse.” I laugh at my joke as she dumps the bright multicolored bounty onto the blanket handing me KitKats, Cool Ranch Doritos and turkey jerky.
“You need protein.”
“Do I?”
She winks and bites her bottom lip. I want to rip the bars open like a gorilla to get to her.
“You’ll need your strength.”
The frustration is mounting. I’m aching to feel her and smell her hair. We’re literally separated by bars.
“Fuck me, I need out of this cell.” I tear open the turkey jerky and take a long pull, while she dips her delicate hand into a bag of salt and vinegar chips.
“Soon. And you’re pretty incredible too. Downright dreamy, really.”
“Then let’s not wake up.” I retake her hand, and she slants her head to get a better view of me through the bars. Her hair flops over her eye, and it’s killing me that I can’t touch it.
