In Other Words

It’s 3 am and he still hasn’t fallen mercifully asleep, not even after the sleeping pills and glass of too much brandy. The numbers on the clock beside him glow too brightly for sleep, and he decides, looking around the room and craving company, to go for a drive. He steps out of bed, throws on a clean tee-shirt and jeans, briefly checks his hair in the mirror, musses it further, and goes downstairs for his keys.

In the car, he opens the window to let in the damp summer night air and turns on the radio, keeping it low. He lights a cigarette, cruises around town steering with his wrist, his eyes peeled for somewhere that’s still open. Anywhere will do.  The streets are deadly quiet and he runs a red because there doesn’t seem any point in waiting. Part of him feels a strange small thrill in being so alone, but the other part feels afraid, and envious of those sleeping peacefully in their beds, arm around the one beside them.

A truck stop, open 24 hours, catches his eye and he parks because of the woman sitting at a table by the window. First he notices the mass of curly light brown hair that frames her round face. She looks tiny as she eats a large, messy burger with gusto, licking her fingers. He watches from his car as she pours extra salt in her ketchup cups and dips her fries.

He orders mozzarella sticks and a Coke and while he finds a straw he can feel his heart pounding at the thought of asking her if he can eat with her. He almost doesn’t. But then she looks up, ruefully wipes mustard from her chin, and waves him over. “Sit,” she invites him, when he stands before her with his tray. He does.

“Can’t sleep,” he immediately apologizes by way of explanation, and she shrugs, chewing. He watches her eat, relishing her food, not shy about taking large bites.

“Me neither,” she explains finally, after swallowing. “How come you can’t?”

He hesitates, picking up a mozza stick and dipping it into the marinara sauce. Should he tell the truth to this woman whose name he doesn’t even know, that he misses his girlfriend, that he can’t sleep when there’s no one in the bed with him anymore? He decides to just come out and say it. It’s 3:30 in the morning and this changes the way things normally happen. Anyway, he doesn’t know her so why should he care? For fortification he shoves the cheese stick in his mouth all at once.

“My girlfriend of three years left me and I can’t get used to sleeping alone.”

She nods and takes a sip of her drink. “You should get a cat,” she suggests. “They can be good company.” She holds his gaze for a moment and he notices the blue of her eyes and thinks fleetingly of the sky. A strand of hair gets caught in her mouth as she takes another bite of her burger and he fights an immediate impulse to brush it aside for her just as she does it herself. Suddenly, he feels shy and acutely aware of her presence. He takes note of her well-fitted green sweater, the freckles on her nose and cheeks, the bits of silver in her ears, the curve of her neck and the veins along the side of it as she takes another bite.

Screw the cat, he thinks. He wants to take her home.

“So why can’t you sleep?” he asks, changing the subject because he doesn’t know what else to say and can’t find the balls to say what he’s thinking. He finishes another mozzarella stick in two bites.

“I had a nightmare,” she explains. “And it freaked me out enough that I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“What about?”

“I dreamed a water tower fell on me,” she says, and then quickly adds when she sees his expression, “No really, it was terrifying. I thought I died.”

“I’m…sorry,” he says.

She shrugs. “It’s okay.” She wipes her mouth on her napkin and noisily sips the last of her drink, swirling the ice in her cup.

“Will you drive me home?” she asks suddenly, looking up at him. “I walked. And I’m tired now. And full. I think I can get back to sleep now.”

“Um, sure,” he says, his pulse quickening at the prospect of sitting beside her in the dark of his car. At the same time, he’s surprised by how soon this encounter is over, and wonders what he’d been expecting.

He follows her to his car and opens the door for her. In the dark as he drives, the radio plays a song that takes him back to high school dances, and he resists the urge to put a hand on her knee or cop a feel under her tight sweater. She looks at him as though she can hear his thoughts and he feels her eyes on his mouth.

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” she says when he stops the car where she’s indicated.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Anyway, um, thanks. For the company, and the ride.”

He nods and can’t help but notice that particular awkwardness, the kind that usually happens when you aren’t sure what to do next with a person you first meet and are attracted to. She leans over and kisses his cheek, a soft brush of her lips that sends a thrill through him, and opens her door to get out.

“Sleep well,” he says softly, imagining her sliding under her covers and spreading her hair on her pillow.

“You too.”

He watches her walk to her door and step inside. She waves and he waves back, memorizing the feel of her kiss, the damp night air, the song on the radio, the place where he sits.