Out of Focus

She stares at him, her cigarette hovering a few inches from her mouth and waits for him to laugh.  He keeps talking without looking at her,

I was driving in the canyon, listening to Elton John.  Benny and the Jets.  There was a car driving in front of me and I drove up really close behind them. I bumped their bumper with mine, and instead of speeding up, they slowed down.  I honked my horn and I swerved back and forth behind them, but they kept breaking, they kept slowing down.  I pulled onto the shoulder and I drove up alongside them and the woman looked at me, our eyes locked.  We came up to a curve and I could see the panic on her face and she tried to turn, but the car, it hit the guardrail.  It flew over the edge of the cliff and I laughed and I laughed and I laughed …

He lifts his cigarette to his mouth and takes another drag and after a moment, she does too.  They sit in silence as they smoke and drink and stare into the night and when she goes to the bar to get another beer, she buys him one too.  He takes it without a word.  She sits back down on the cold, metal chair and lights a cigarette and stares at his profile before deciding to speak.

Today I saw a thousand butterflies hanging off of a tree.  I read about them online when I got back to my hotel room.  They’re Monarch butterflies.  They fly south from Canada to the Pacific coast for the winter.  It takes them months, and the ones that start, they aren’t the ones that end up here, they die and new ones are born along the way.  They cluster together in the trees to stay warm.  They’re butterflies, you know, they don’t weigh much, but sometimes there are so many of them, they break branches off the trees…

He turns and meets her eyes for the first time and his are black and empty and she wants to look away, but she can’t and she continues,

And I was at the aquarium earlier.  Jellyfish, they do it too, travel together.  It’s just … I just mean, sometimes … It’s hard to survive alone.

He stands up and he leaves and she watches his back as he disappears into the fog. It’s cold and the wind is picking up and she finishes her cigarette and goes inside.  She sits at the end of the bar and eavesdrops on conversations and watches the TV above the bar.  After a few minutes the bartender walks by with a rag in his hand and asks if she needs anything.

I’m good, thanks.

Where did your friend go?

What friend?

I thought I saw you outside talking to someone.

He was more talking to me.  I don’t really know him.

So you’re here alone?

Yeah, I’m all alone.

She catches her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, obscured by liquor bottles and hanging wineglasses.  She pulls her phone out of her pocket and stares at the text message from Des, 

Just wondering how you’re doing, wanted you to know I’m thinking about you.

Even though she’s been trying not to think of anything, she realizes she’s been thinking about him too and finally she texts him back.  A few minutes later the phone vibrates in her hand,

Are you coming home?

Yes.

When?

Soon.

Good because I kind of miss you.

I kind of miss you too.

She clicks send and puts her phone back in her pocket. After she finishes her drink she puts some money on the bar and leaves.  Groups of people stand outside of clubs smoking and laughing and homeless people sleep on the cement benches that line the dark streets.  Cars drive by slowly, their headlights cut through the thick fog.  She hears music and walks towards it and finds a small circle of people standing around a man with a cello. The melancholy music saturates the air and follows her down the street and around the corner.  She stops at the bridge and climbs up to sit on the wall. The reflections of the city lights wiggle in the shallow water of the canal and the man’s music drifts faintly over the buildings.  A gust of wind blows fog across the water and it ripples and the bridge creaks as a dump truck speeds across.  She buttons her coat around her and watches two people walking together on the other side of the street.

She thinks about the man at the bar and about cars careening off of cliffs and how there are a million ways for a person to die.  She lights a cigarette and holds the match in her hand, seeing how long it can stay lit in the wind.  The flame blows sideways, but doesn’t flicker out and she smiles, thinking that for the first time in a long time, she could be happy.