Just Move

I tumbled from the apartment, down the stairs, onto the street. I was propelled by what I had done. My limbs felt like water and I, horrified, felt poured into the breaking day. I couldn't stop, couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything but the cracks in the sidewalk. A car almost hit me in an intersection. I should've been clued in by the cessation of cracks. The driver yelled at me mutely Gazing at him, I straightened up and looked around. The light seemed to flood in, not filling me, not overwhelming my consciousness, but bringing clarity to everything, all the details, the nagging, insistent cracks that compelled me forward.

What was I doing? It was one mistake, one lapse of judgment. No one even knew, unless Moira had woken up in the intermittent minutes. It was easily fixed. I just needed to get my bearings. Hurling obviously meant I might still be drunk. Coffee might be in order and something more solid than veggies and dip. On the other hand, every second I deliberated was another second closer to Moira waking up and finding my mess. The car honked, and I started. Just move. I started walking back towards Moira's apartment, thinking as I went.

Beneath me I felt the sidewalk heating up. I realized I had no shoes and no shirt. I patted my pockets and found my wallet. At least there was that. I spied a gas-station convenience store and put a hand on the door. The guy inside, white shirt tucking his gut desperately into his pants, pointed at a sign that told me, "No Service." Damn. I snapped my fingers and thought myself corny like a secondary character in an Indiana Jones flick or an Encyclopedia Brown story. I had it, though. Michael's place was only two blocks from here. I broke into a jog, hoping he'd be home. I rounded a corner and almost pitched into a hedge, but I made it to his building's intercom and punched his number.

I could see my face dimly reflected in the brass of the intercom. It rang four, five times. I sighed, defeated, and rested my head on the cool metal. It kept ringing. "Hi, this is Mike. I'm out and you're out of luck." I swore and dialed it again. Five, six, seven times it rang. I punched the numbers again slowly. On the fourth ring, there was a click. "Hello?" It was a woman's voice. "Who's this? Michael can't come to the phone right now." "Hello? Hello! Hi, this is Mike's friend. I need help. Let me up. Please, I really need Mike." "It's barely seven. Can't you come back later?" "No! No, I need Mike now! Please, please you gotta help me out. Just hit the pound key. Please?" There was a pause and my breath wouldn't come. "Mike? Mike, there's a guy here asking for you." Her voice sounded distant. It took her a minute to get back, and I glanced up nervously. The clouds rushed by, as if they each wanted to pass by and see my desperation. I gritted my teeth and tried not to close my eyes. The world didn't stay still when I did that. The voice crackled back. "Hey, what's your name?" "It's Dub. Tell him it's Dub." "What kind of--" "Dub! Dub, hey. Sorry." Thank God, it was Mike's voice. "No, get outta here Tati. No, I don't know. Shower or something. Hey man. Sorry about that. Come up." It buzzed and the door popped open. An old man with a tiny dog was siting in the lobby, staring. I didn't think about how long he'd been sitting there, not letting me in. A woman in a pink skirt-suit was in the elevator with me. I tried not to leer.

Mike's hall was a sickly green and salmon. I kept a hand against the wall so as not to stagger. The door opened before I got there. Mike was ushering a young lady out. "I'm sorry, Tatiana. I know it's early, but Dub really needs me. Look, I'll call you." "When?" "Tonight. I promise." "Michael Francis Aronowitz, don't make promises you're not going to keep." "Tatiana, I won't let you down. I swear." "It's not nice to swear, Michael. I'm going to have to punish you next time I see you." Michael laughed and snapped his teeth at her. She adjusted her skirt as she waited for the elevator. I started to apologize for not holding it, but she didn't give me the slightest acknowledgment so I stopped. Michael grinned, shook his head, and pulled me in. "So, what's troubling you."

I paused to recollect myself. The apartment helped. Michael had an odd sense of decor, filling his rooms with a rich darkness tinted with green. The wood was beautifully varnished and everything else was homey shag. I inhaled deeply and forgot the city for a second, forgot my queasiness and just breathed. I had to give Mike an appraising look that took in and told all. The girl, the quick boot he had given her, the wire glasses, the white bathrobe (too short, I might add). His grin displayed an impressive set of white teeth. Everything worked to set everything else off perfectly. The green and brown of the apartment. The stark whiteness offset by Michael's dark skin. The glasses perched expectantly on his quite formidable nose. He looked everybit the mad offspring of Ichabod Crane and Marion Jones, and he made the term Jew-fro, well, appropriate.

I took one more breath and considered what to tell him. I opted against letting everything pour out all at once. I was sure he knew about the situation with Sarah and might have useful insight, but that was not the pressing matter of the moment. It was more important to get this puke business sorted out. Fast. "I puked on Moira's carpet. I gotta fix it before she gets up. You got a shirt?"

"Dude, you know esta en su casa. I'll find something. Grab the stain remover from under the sink."
As I was rummaging through the different bottles of cleaners, I shot back at him, "Isn't it mi casa es su casa?"
"No, man. That's just a fucking aphorism."
"What, are you Latino now?"
"No, but my mami is."
"If you're in this kind of mood, I'm definitely going to need coffee."
"We'll stop at the mini-mart on the way. It's all good."
"The guy working there's a prick. Didn't even let me in the front door."
"They don't put those signs up just because they're pretty. It's to keep out barbarians like you." He threw a shirt and shoes at me. He'd already changed into faded black jeans and a tight t-shirt. I pulled on the shoes and frowned at the shirt. It had a green power ranger posing on the front and what looked like Godzilla on the back.
"Japanese, Latino. You can't just be simple old you, Mike?"
"It's not called bi-culturalism," he said, pushing me out the door and locking it.
"It should be. Maybe they'd pick up a few more followers. Curious."
"You're an imbecile."
"At least I'm not a hipster imbecile."
"You wouldn't know the difference. So, you went home with Moira?"
"I don't think anything happened. I don't even remember leaving the club."
"Sarah ditched you, remember?"
"Yes, vaguely," I snapped. "Let's get this coffee already." I glared at the mini-mart guy, but Mike struck him up in conversation as I filled a cup steaming. "Relative of yours?" I asked as we left.
"You get what? One racist comment a day?"
"You have camaraderie with someone with similar color skin, so I can't comment on it? That guy just ticked me off. Besides, I'm just not in the mood." I took a bite of the bagel I had also bought, dry. "Wait. How're we gonna get into Moira's apartment?"
"Don't worry about it. Nothing may have happened between you two, but that doesn't mean girl doesn't like to get down."
"Seriously?"
"Don't fret it, Holmes. It was only a one-time thing, and it was before you came into the picture. I swear."
"It's not nice to swear."
Grinning, he pushed a few numbers on the pad at Moira's building, and the door buzz-clicked open. "I'm not nice," he said.

I shook my head and followed him up the stairs. He used a key from above Moira's door to open her apartment and I went in and started cleaning up. Smelling it again, I gagged but fought back the urge to puke. We got the puke contents and most of the discoloration. I sniffed the spot worried the smell would linger, but Michael waved his hand dismissively. I left a note on her kitchen counter. "Sorry. Thank you."

I moved to peak in on her, but Michael grabbed me by the arm, shook his head. As he shut the door quietly behind us, he said, "Better not to. Always better not to."

I shrugged and followed him back to his apartment. "Sleep," I said. "What was the point of the coffee?" he said. "Makes everything clear. Not clarion, Holmes. Besides, I didn't really drink it." As I crashed into dreamless sleep on his couch, his teeth flashed white at me and said, "Vaya con Dios, Dublin. I'll be here when you wake."