"A Late Night Visit" drabbles by Rusty McCaugh
A Late Night Visit Pt. 4
A Late Night Visit
"Why did I reach for her hand?" I wondered. "Think of something, dammit!" I scrambled for anything besides the truth. "I was drunk." I spit out. "I didn't know what I was doing." Easy words to be said.
"I'm not like that, you know. I don't fuck the first time I meet someone."
That word 'fuck'. It's tasteless and makes the breathe stink. An onion of the English language. I broke from eye contact, rubbed the back of my neck. "You're attractive, you know that." I looked around the room, seemingly ashamed. My eyes traversed the doorknob across the room.
A Late Night Visit Pt. 3
A Late Night Visit
Hannah's nerves had become mine too. My knee bouncing rapidly. As if I were attempting to keep a baby's mind entertained. My knee bouncing to keep mine focused, in beat, in tune. That voice of entertainment was stealing the show. As any fine act would. And Hannah sure looked fine that night. She defied gravity. She wasn't safe. I liked that. We talked. We smoked. And we talked some more. The clock read one in-the-morning. Hannah stood to fetch two waters, then paused mid-step. She spoke, "Why'd you reach for my hand the other night?" I froze.
A Late Night Visit Pt. 2
A Late Night Visit
She hugged me. I followed her up the elevator. We entered a studio room. The room sliced into thirds by dividers: bedroom, living room, kitchen. Accompanied by a customary bathroom. Hannah guided me toward the living room surpassing the bed and gallery. Her apartment was clean. I liked that. Hannah sat on the couch. I heard two voices just then. One, entertaining particular outcomes by sitting beside her. The other urging to make "good decisions". The latter tugging. Pulling. A voice pulling with gravity. Bringing me to a safe place: the desk chair. Directly in front of Hannah...across the room.
A Late Night Visit Pt. 1
A Late Night Visit
“I’m real close.” I texted her. Walking up her doorsteps. I stopped. Waited for a minute, feeling I arrived early. Three knocks. The customary. She opened the door in sync with her lips. Rehearsed finely. She had burnt orange hair that bloomed and rooted into a pigtail upon her shoulder. Reminded me of autumn. My favorite time of year. She wore a spaghetti strap tank top reflecting ocean green. White low-cut shorts. Cut low enough remaining fashionable. But long enough retaining dignity. She’s confident. I liked that. But tonight, Hannah appeared nervous. Something's on her mind. Now, mine too.
