"The Comfort in Being Sad" by Michael Dell CHAPTER TEN (Justine and Michael) Justine saw him walking towards her from across the club. He had waved to her earlier in the evening, but now he was coming over. She quickly put out her cigarette and sat up straight on her stool, adjusting her blouse in preparation for his arrival. She turned and smiled. "She just left!" was his impassioned greeting. He seemed angry, nervous, and depressed all at once. He was standing tall, chest out, appearing ready to fight anyone and everyone, yet his eyes were adorned in sadness and his voice owned a quality she had never heard it possess. She recognized it immediately as that of a broken heart. "Mel?" guessed Justine, her smile fading. "Yeah!" "She left?" "Yeah, she just left without even saying good-bye to me! She said good-bye to my friends but not me!" "What happened?" "I don't know." Michael settled into the empty barstool to Justine's left. "She told me she was working 'til closing. I was throwing darts when she walked right past me to go over and say good-bye to my friends. So she's walking by me again and I say, 'Are you leaving?' and all she does is look at me and like shrugs her shoulders. And that's it! She just leaves!" Justine lit another cigarette. "Maybe she had some homework to do or something..." "So she can't say good-bye to me? That's just fucking ignorant! And she knew the only reason I came out here tonight was to see her." "Well, don't feel bad, she didn't say good-bye to me either." "And up until then everything was cool. Just like normal. Then she just leaves! And she knew the only reason I was coming out tonight was to see her!" "What's wrong with you?" The question belonged to Pam. "He's upset because Mel just left without saying good-bye to him." "Aw, that's rotten," slurred Pam, placing an arm around Michael in consolation while the other reached for a beer. "She did that to you? That's terrible. No one ever appreciates people like us." Michael was too upset to worry about the connotation of Pam's 'people like us.' Normally such an inclusion would have sent him into fits of internal laughter and silent prayer. Justine blew more smoke. "It's Pam's birthday." "Happy Birthday," muttered Michael before finding the bartender. "Hey, can I get three shots of Jager." Justine nodded to the bartender, "He used to work at Wild Wings." She tapped loose ashes from her cigarette. The bartender set out three shot glasses in front of Michael and began to fill them with the dark brown elixir. "Donnie, this is the guy at Wild Wings who always used to order all those shots of Jager." Donnie looked up and gave a slight grin of recognition. "Those three are all for him." Michael handed over ten dollars and said to keep the change. Donnie left. It had never occurred to Michael to share the shots. Now he felt guilty. "You want one?" "No, I hate that stuff. Can't drink it." "Sure?" "Yeah, I'm sure." "Pam, how 'bout you? It's your birthday. Do a shot of Jager with me." Pam didn't have to be asked twice. Justine grimaced, "I don't know how you can do that stuff." Michael emptied the second one. "C'mon, Justine, let's go dance," commanded Pam, each word sloshing loose from her mouth. "Go ahead, I'll be up in a minute." "Well hurry up. It's my fucking birthday and I want to have some fun." Pam staggered up the stairs to the dance floor. Justine sipped her beer. She gave Michael a playful tap with her elbow, "Cheer up." "I can't." "That's just Mel. That's how she is. I don't even know if she's even my friend anymore. She only lets people get so close to her and then she puts up a wall." "Does she have any real friends?" "None that I know of. She has her sister. But I don't even think she gets along with her. All she does is go to school and go to work. That's what she's focused on. And she's had a tough home life." "What do you mean?" "I can't say. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone." Michael respected the vow and didn't press the issue even though his mind was leaping to grand conclusions of tragic abuse and horrific misdeeds. "Mel's just Mel. You can only get so close to her before you hit that wall. And that's just how she is." Michael spun the empty shot glass in his hand. "Maybe she's that way because no one ever took that extra step to get close to her." "Haven't you tried? You couldn't have been any nicer to her and look how she treats you. How many times does she have to hurt you?" Justine rubbed out her cigarette and took a healthy swig of beer. "I'm gonna go dance. Wanna come?" "No thanks." "I'll be right back. If I don't go Pam will bitch at me all night." Michael didn't watch her leave. He was immune to the chaotic scene around him. The pulsating music, the flashing lights, the presence of alcohol; nothing registered. He merely sat quietly at the bar and stared into nothingness, his mind busy replaying the events of the evening. He and Jerry arrived early before the crowd. Mel was standing outside talking to the doorman. She looked so beautiful. She walked inside with them and told them where to sit. With the place practically empty, she had time to talk. Things seemed to pick up where they left off Saturday night. Everything was natural, understood. Her admiration for him was so obvious that when she went to get their drinks Jerry even joked, "Looks like someone's gettin' laid tonight." Once his other friends arrived and occupied all the available stools, Michael pulled over another from a nearby table and Mel dutifully slipped in beside him. He felt so proud and strong with her by his side. She couldn't stay long. The place began to fill. She had to get back to work. She told him she'd be working until closing. Michael settled in for what was surely going to be a long night. She spent the evening hovering around their table, watching them play pool or throw darts. Michael was merely counting the minutes until closing, when they could really talk, when they could be alone. But then she left. Melanie walked out on him. She was gone. He didn't want to move. Only the touch of Justine's hand across his back brought him to life. "You still moping?" She took a drink from her waiting beer. "Why don't you come dance?" "No thank you." Michael suddenly remembered that he didn't come to the Twilight Zone alone. Jerry and the others were still there. Or were they? He scanned the far corner of the club for them and saw that their table was empty. "What's wrong?" asked Justine. "I forgot about my friends. I was so pissed when Mel left I told them I needed to get some air and was gonna walk home, but then I saw you and came over here instead. I think they may have left without me." "You don't see 'em?" "No. Maybe they're outside looking for me." "C'mon." Justine took another sip and then motioned for Michael to follow her. She led him to the club's front entrance. The girl that collected the cover charges was sitting behind a counter and there was a rather burly gentleman leaning against the wall beside her. "Hey, Kelly." Apparently Justine knew everyone. "He got separated from his friends. Can he go check and see if they're out in the parking lot?" Kelly gave approval. "Go ahead, I'll wait here for you." Michael did as he was told. As he left, he could hear Justine ask Kelly how she was doing. The parking lot was situated on a slight grade that rose away from the club. Michael could see the whole expanse at once and knew almost immediately that Jerry's car wasn't there. It was Wednesday, so the lot wasn't nearly as crowded as it would be on the weekend. Michael wandered up and down the first few rows of cars just to make sure. Convinced he had been left behind, he made his way back to the club. There was a kid sitting in a chair propping open the front door. Michael didn't even notice him when he left. The kid must not have noticed Michael either, because he asked to see some ID. Michael began to tell him how he had just left but relented when he realized it wasn't worth the effort and produced his driver's license instead. Once inside, he found Justine right where he had left her. She was still talking to Kelly. She broke off the conversation when she saw him. "Well?" "I think they split." "Thanks, Kel." Justine walked with him arm in arm back to their bar stools. "Where's your car?" "At home. I didn't drive." "Where do you live?" "In Hadleyville. It's only like five minutes from here." "I can give you a ride." "It's not out of your way, is it?" "No, I live over by the hospital." "Yeah, I'm not far from there. Thanks. I appreciate it." "No problem. You're in no hurry though, are you?" "I'll stay all night, I don't care. I just want to get fucked up. Where's the bartender?" Justine waved to Donnie who was serving elsewhere. "He'll be right over." "Thanks. By the way, my name's Michael Malloy. I don't think we've ever actually been formally introduced." Justine smiled, "I knew your name was Michael. That's enough." "I don't know your last name." "It's Bush." "Is that s-c-h." "No, s-h. And, yes, my dad's name is George." "That's odd. My dad's name? Abraham Lincoln." Donnie arrived. "Hey, can I get three more shots of Jager." He turned to Justine. "You want anything?" "Bring me another Tequila Rose." Donnie went about filling the order. "What did you get?" asked Michael. "A Tequila Rose. It's like tequila and milk or something. They're really good. I've been doing them all night. And my real name isn't really Justine." "What is it?" "Theresa. Justine's my middle name." "Don't like Theresa?" "Not really. I was named after a great aunt on my mom's side. But no one ever called me Theresa," Donnie handed Justine her shot. It was light pink in color. "Want a taste?" "No thanks. I'll stick with Jager." Michael handed over fifteen bucks and told Donnie to keep it. Then he hoisted the first shot of Jager with Justine as she downed her Tequila Rose. "Mmmm, that's good," purred Justine. "Why don't you come dance with me? Let's have fun!" "I don't dance." Michael drained his second shot. "I love to dance. I'm not supposed to be able to. I broke my leg when I was a kid and they didn't think I'd ever be able to walk right again." Michael hesitated, the third shot in his hand. "How'd it happen?" Justine paused to light another cigarette. "A motorcycle accident." "How old were you?" "Fourteen. I had to have a couple surgeries and my leg was in a cast for like six months. I had to learn to walk all over again. That's why I love to dance so much now." "Does it still hurt at all?" "Not really." "That's amazing." "That's nothing. I've broken all sorts of bones." She took I long drag and exhaled. "My dad broke my collarbone." "What?" The third shot still hadn't left his hand. "Tell me he didn't beat you..." "Hell yeah he did. He used to beat the shit out of me." More smoke. "Why?" "I don't know. My parents never really had a good marriage. They always used to fight. He used to drink a lot. He beat my mom too. But he doesn't anymore. That was a long time ago. He's been really good to me ever since he broke my collarbone." Justine smiled. "I think it scared him." "What about your mom? Are they still together?" "Yeah. She just had a stroke, though." Cigarette to lips. "I moved back home to help take care of her. But she hates me. All she does is yell at me. She's always like, 'What the hell are you doing here.? Go away. I don't need you.' All she does is bitch ever since I came home. But if I wasn't there she wouldn't have anyone to take care of her during the days." "I'm sure she doesn't mean it. She probably doesn't even realize it." "I know." A puff of smoke marked a change in subject. "I once had a gun pointed at me." Michael's shoulders fell and he looked at her in stunned disbelief, horrified that all of this could happen to one girl. The Jager was now resting on the bar completely out of reach. Justine laughed at his expression and continued. "I was working the night shift at a 7-11 when a guy came in and put a gun to my head and tried to rob me." "What did you do?" asked Michael, completely engrossed in the story and in the woman telling it. "Well, the thing is I knew the guy. He was a friend of my brother. But he was so messed up on meth he didn't even know it was me. I was like, 'Kenny, put the gun down it's me.'" "Were you scared?" "Fuck no. It was just Kenny. He was screaming at me, 'Give me the money, bitch! Give me the money!' I just laughed at him. I told him to put the gun down and go home or I'd have my brother kick his ass." "So what did he do?" "He went home. He was so messed up I don't think he ever did know it was me. He just left. I called the cops and they arrested his ass. It wasn't until later when it was over that my legs started to shake. I mean, he could have shot me. The gun was pointed right at my head. So I figured I'd quit that job. I've had 17 different ones, including Wild Wings." "Seventeen jobs?" "Yep." "I think I've had two." "Yeah, you name it, I've done it... waitress, bartender, convenience store clerk, grocery cashier, sales person, telemarketer, whatever." Pam floated back into frame. She looked quite overheated and was showing signs of all her 39 years on Earth. She poured herself what was left of the pitcher of beer she had been sharing with Justine. "We're out of beer." Justine heard the call to arms and had another pitcher in front of them within seconds. Michael insisted on paying for it. Pam took enough time from drinking to bitch at Justine for not dancing. Justine drank another glass herself and started to sway to the music. Michael finally took care of his waiting shot of Jager. Refreshed, Pam insisted that Justine go back with her to the dance floor. Justine said she would and was about to follow when she saw Michael had drifted back into his depression. She hugged him around the shoulders and placed her head against his, whispering, "It will be okay." She kissed him gently on the cheek. When Michael turned she was already gone. He watched her climb the three stairs to the dance floor. She wasn't there more than a second before she was surrounded by hopeful young men vying for her favor. Michael watched Justine, her long, willowy body highlighted by the pulsing background light of greens, reds, and blues, as she snaked her way between the grinding hips and roving hands of admirers. He watched her delight in the orgiastic pleasure of the moment. She was the center of attention. Her leg didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. She was happy. Michael wasn't happy. He had some drinking to do. Three more shots met their maker. The rate with which he dispatched them drew admiration. His remarkable tolerance for alcohol had long been admired by friends and foe alike. Two more joined the cause. "Hey, what's wrong, man?" Michael looked to his right to see exactly who asked the question. A couple empty stools away were two black guys, both overweight and looking enough alike to be brothers or at least buddies with similar eating habits. They seemed friendly, so Michael answered the question. "I had my heart broken tonight." "That sucks," said the guy closest to Michael. "How long were you going out?" "We weren't. But it looked like we were about to start." "Don't sweat it. There's pussy everywhere. Ain't no ass worth getting all depressed about." Michael shook his head in silent disagreement and went about wallowing in pity. Justine returned, having left the boys of the dance floor behind in throbbing frustration. "How you doin'?" "All right." She settled in beside him and went about the task of lighting another cigarette. Michael was occupied with misery. He could, however, hear her talking with someone else. "How much have you had to drink?" asked Justine of Michael. "Ever?" "No, just tonight." "All night?" "Yeah." "Like ten shots of Jager and a Scotch on the rocks." Justine repeated the answer to her right. Michael heard a muffled 'Damn!' in response. He figured out she was talking to the two guys from before who were kind enough to offer words of encouragement. After a few moments of chatter, Justine slipped her arm around Michael's and snuggled up against him. "Stick close to me," she whispered in his ear. "I think those guys want to hit on me." Michael cracked a smile. It was quickly chased away by thoughts of Melanie. Justine laughed and drank more beer. They stayed until closing. The crowd, or what was left of it, had all emptied out by the time Michael and Justine walked from the club. Michael was still visibly depressed, head hanging low and hands buried in pockets. Justine had her left arm hooked through his right as they walked and was still trying to regale him with stories from her childhood in an attempt to get his mind off Melanie. She suddenly stopped and put her right hand to her head. "Shit! I forgot my hat." She untangled her arm from Michael's. "I'll be right back." Michael didn't even know she had a hat with her. He froze in place at the edge of the parking lot and waited as she ran back inside the club. "It looks like you did all right." Michael looked up to see the two guys who talked to him earlier. "What's that?" "I was just saying it looks like you did all right," repeated the kind stranger, moving his head in the direction that Justine just ran. "Oh, it's not like that. We're just friends." "Yeah, uh huh. Friends." They both started to laugh as they walked past Michael en route to their car. "Take it easy, man." "Yeah, take it easy." Justine returned wearing a black leather beret. It was the kind of thing Michael would have surely made fun of on anyone else. But on Justine it looked nice. Or maybe he was just too drunk to care. Justine pointed to a lone car in the far row of the now abandoned parking lot, "That's us up there." "What about Pam?" "She's coming." They unhooked arms when they reached the car. It was a big, grey box of a car, four doors. They stood outside, Justine by the driver's door, Michael by the passenger's, waiting for Pam, who had been sidetracked. She was talking to Michael's two recent bar pals. They seemed to talk to everyone. "What's she doing?" griped Justine. "Where did you say you lived?" "It's like five minutes from here. It's over by Schaler's Bakery, if you know where that is." "Okay, yeah." "I still live at home," admitted Michael, half embarrassed. He would have been fully embarrassed if sober. "Don't feel bad, so do I now." "Are you sure you're okay to drive?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry." "You sure." "Yeah, I'm not that drunk. I've driven a lot worse than this. I'm used to it." "Do somethin' to let me know you're okay." Justine stood up straight, extended her right arm, and touched her nose. "There. Happy?" The field sobriety pop quiz did little to ease Michael's concerns. But then he remembered he didn't give a fuck. Mel had left. The idea of a fiery death never seemed more appealing. "Just don't hit anyone else." Once he saw Pam getting close, Michael opened up the passenger door. "You better sit in the back," warned Justine. "We'll never hear the end of it." "Oh, yeah, that's my bad. I wasn't even thinking." Michael opted for the backseat, leaving the front for Pam. Pam entered with an explanation. "Those were the guys that rented Linda her apartment. I knew they looked familiar. They're nice guys." She noticed Michael. "What's he doin'? Is he comin' with us?" "He needs a ride home." "I don't know if they'll let him in." Michael was confused. Justine shed light. "We're gonna go to an after hours place. You wanna come or do you want me to drop you off first?" "I'd like to go if it's cool with you. I could drink some more." "They'd let him in, right? You're a member." "Yeah, I can get him in," relented Pam. "I don't even fuckin' care. Let's just get going. It's my god damn birthday." The ride passed without incident. Justine was used to it. They pulled into a gravel parking lot behind a small, square building in the residential heart of South Hadleyville. There were houses all around. Michael recognized the neighborhood. He never realized it contained an after hours place. The term brought to mind images of speakeasies, gin martinis, and sexy flappers in beaded dresses and Louise Brooks haircuts. Maybe the flappers were inside. The outside of the building was anything but fashionable. Grey siding, cracked sidewalk, unkempt grass, three garish red letters - V.F.D. - prominently displayed above the entrance. So this was Hadleyville's seamy side. There was no password needed to enter. Pam threw open the door to cheers of welcome. She was a regular and acted as such, exchanging salutations with loud, boisterous ease. Justine smiled a few "Hey"s. Michael trailed behind, quiet and depressed, wondering if they served Jager. A bar ran the length of the front wall, taking up nearly a third of the entire room's available space. Five or six little round tables were scattered over the other two thirds. There was a jukebox. A TV hung over the bar. The walls were decorated with a dart board and seemingly every free promotional beer poster to come down the pike. The atmosphere was somewhat smoky and reeked of wasted lives. It wasn't crowded. The people that were there seemed clustered just inside the door. All the tables were empty. The bar owned three men, a couple middle-aged women keeping them company, and three younger girls, without a trace of flapper in them, sitting at the opposite end. The place had a family feel to it. Everyone knew everyone else. Michael was an outsider. He felt their eyes upon him. He knew they were all wondering who he was and what he was doing with Pam and Justine. He didn't care. He saw a men's room door along the side wall. "I'll be right back." Justine nodded. The bathroom was surprisingly clean. Michael went through the automatic procedure, feeling the numb flush of drunkenness in his face as he stood studying the chipped enamel of the urinal. He washed his hands. The mirror reflected a stranger. He splashed some water on his face and tried to remember where he was. Mel had left. He spent the night drinking with Justine. They were now in an after hours place in South Hadleyville. He splashed more water. Michael was met by Justine when he exited the rest room. "They need to see your ID." Michael once again produced his driver's license. The bartender returned it without saying a word and went back to talking to the others at the bar, one of which was now Pam. Justine tugged on Michael's sleeve, "Let's sit over here." She carried with her a plastic cup of beer. They sat down at the nearest table. Justine removed her hat with care and placed it along with her purse. Michael slouched in his chair, right leg bent, left extended, arms folded across chest. Justine lit a cigarette and started talking. "You still thinking about Melanie?" "Yeah." "I don't get it. What's the big deal? There are plenty of other girls out there." Michael cut her off. "I think I'm in love with her." Justine sank with a mix of disappointment and compassion, letting out an involuntary "Awww..." She wanted to hug him. At least. "I have some guy hopelessly in love with me. He's a writer, too. He said he's gonna have a book published pretty soon. He even wrote me a poem once. What color are my eyes?" Michael squinted. He was too drunk to tell. "I don't know, green?" "They're hazel." Justine tapped loose some ashes. "He called me his hazel-eyed goddess." She laughed and took another hit. Michael's depression grew with the knowledge that someone who could pen 'hazel-eyed goddess' was going to be published and his book sat at home unfinished. "So what's the problem?" "I don't know." "Do you like him?" "Yeah, I think I do. We've gone out a couple times. He's not like the guys I usually go out with. I think he could be someone special. " "Then call him and tell him," pleaded Michael, feeling a bond with this questionable poet. There was kinship among the unrequited. "He's always telling me how pretty I am and how much he loves me. And the last time we were together..." Excited, Justine sat up straight and moved her hands slowly around her body. "He kissed me all over! Michael, it felt so wonderful! Everywhere, ya know?" Michael held up a hand in protest. "Yeah, I know." "So you think I should call him and tell him how I feel?" "Yes. If he loves you, and you love him, tell him. Don't waste time. Don't fuck around. Don't play games. It's too important. Tell him. Let him know." "Maybe I'll call him tomorrow." "Yes. Promise me you'll call him." "I promise." Michael felt proud of his achievement. If only someone would have a similar talk with Melanie. "I need a drink." He reeled to the bar and was quickly waited on by the lone bartender. Michael's heart rejoiced upon hearing that shots of Jager were only $1.50. The jubilation was spoiled by the discovery of only three dollars in his wallet. That sucked. As he waited for his drinks, one of the three young girls at the end of the bar slid in beside him. "How old are you?" were the first words out of her mouth. Michael quickly sized her up. She was the standard milk-fed girl with crispy bangs and high hair. Possible GED. Goin' nowhere. If she lost ten pounds she'd still need to lose ten pounds. And she was drunk. Anxious for a throw. "I'm twenty-four," answered Michael, his shots now filled and ready. "You don't look it." He looked at her apologetically, "I'm sorry." "No, no..." stammered the girl, embarrassed. "I owe it all to clean living." He punctuated the statement by killing the first shot. He carried the second back to the table. The girl rejoined her friends at the end of the bar. "What was that?" asked Justine, trying to hide a smile as she stared down the girl. "Nothin'. Hey, I'm sorry, did you want anything," asked Michael before sitting down. "No, I'm fine." His wallet was hoping that's what she'd say. "I'm not even supposed to be drinking this," continued Justine, taking another sip of beer. "I'm not supposed to have any alcohol at all." "Why not?" She hesitated a moment. Michael wasn't aware of the extended pause. Everything was moving slowly for him. "Remember that night I was supposed to come out drinking with you guys?" "And you didn't show," recalled Michael. "That was Mel's last night working at Wild Wings. She was the only waitress. She was so busy the only time I really got to talk to her was when she brought me drinks, so I drank eight Scotches. Then I got too drunk to ask her out. Ya know, I needed you there. I was counting on you helping me out with her." "That's the only reason you'd want me there." "You know that's not true." "Anyway," Justine took comfort in her cigarette. "The reason I wasn't there is because I had a doctor's appointment that day." "You okay?" "I have cancer." Alcohol subdued Michael's reaction. He had never heard anyone say those words before; 'I have cancer.' They hurt. He didn't know what to say. He ended up just staring at her as she leaned on her cigarette instead. Their silence was filled by the laughter of the others in the room. "I don't know why I'm telling you this." She used the ashtray. "I shouldn't be telling you this." Michael sat up. "No, it's okay." He put down his Jager. "No one knows. I told my brother but that's it. My parents don't even know. So don't tell anyone." "I won't." "I shouldn't have told you." "It's okay." "I don't know why, but I like talking to you. It's kind of like you actually listen." "I do. I'll always listen." "It's stomach cancer. It kind of runs in my family. Two aunts and an uncle have died from it. That's why I don't give a fuck about drinking. I figure I'm gonna die soon anyway so might as well have fun." "Don't say that." "What?" smiled Justine. "How do you feel?" "I feel fine now. But I get really bad pain a couple times a week. Makes it hard to eat." "Do they think they can treat it?" "Yeah, they think so, but what the fuck do they know? I have to go back for more tests Monday." Before Michael could voice consolation, Pam rumbled over to the table. "What are you two doin' over here anyway? What's goin' on?" Pam sat down between Michael and Justine on the side opposite the bar. She was quite drunk. "Aw, what's wrong? Is Justine telling you all about her poor pitiful life and all the problems she has? Oh, boo hoo. Everyone always feels so sorry for Justine. Poor Justine! You don't know what problems are, little girl." "Don't pay any attention to her. She's drunk. She won't even remember any of this tomorrow. She never does." "Try having six ungrateful kids that all hate you and an ex-husband that's a good-for-nothing son of a bitch that never worked a day in his life!" At this point Pam thrusted her left arm out on the table, palm to ceiling. "Look at that!" Justine kept smoking, having heard all this before. Michael, new to the scene, observed a thick red scar near the base of Pam's hand. "That's from my oldest. My own fucking kid stabbed me! How's that for problems! My life would make both of you cry like babies. Neither one of you could deal with what I have to deal with every day!" The outburst seemed to drain Pam of whatever energy remained, leaving her frozen, mouth partly open, gaping into space behind a heavy curtain of alcohol. Justine put out her cigarette and took a last sip of beer. "Let's go." Michael helped Pam to her feet and they made their exit, the remaining occupants of the bar wishing Pam a happy birthday as they went. Michael's still full shot of Jager remained on the table untouched. Pam lived only a few streets away. Cars lined both curbs. Justine came to a stop in the middle of the narrow lane and kept the engine running. Michael got out of the back and assisted Pam from the passenger side door. He held her arm until she was steady on her feet. "You want me to walk you to the door?" offered Michael. "No, no..." "Okay, well, Happy Birthday." "Yeah, yeah..." Pam staggered away, still grumbling about her kids and a life gone wrong. Michael took her seat up front beside Justine. They waited to see that Pam got inside before driving off. "She doesn't even say thank you," complained Justine, a freshly lit cigarette in her hand. "I got her a cake, I took her out. Think anyone else wanted to? No one even remembered it was her birthday. And I don't even get a thank you." "She's crushed." "Still no excuse. I hate being around her when she's drunk." The ride to Michael's house was an exercise in avoidance. Their relationship had definitely taken an unexpected turn. Neither wanted to test the boundaries of their newfound closeness. Michael, wary of forcing Justine into talking about her illness, only spoke when offering directions to his house. Justine, feeling stupid for having opened up so much to someone she barely knew, filled any dead air with the usual meaningless chatter. Thankfully, the journey wasn't long. "That's it there." The car stopped in the middle of a quiet, picturesque Hadleyville neighborhood. Houses rolled on each side. It was three in the morning. Peaceful. "Nice house." "Thanks for the ride." "Anytime." "And thank you for taking care of me tonight. I really appreciate everything you did for me." "It was nothing. I had fun." "Listen," Michael pulled out his wallet. "I know we haven't known each other that long or anything, but I want you to call me if you ever need to talk to someone." He handed her a business card with his name and number. "That's the place I used to write for. But that's my home number. Call me anytime." "I'll do that." Justine studied the card a moment and then slipped it into her purse. "Thanks." She reached over and hugged him. Michael returned the embrace. Justine forgot she was still holding her cigarette. "Oh shit, did I burn you?" "It's okay, don't worry. I'm fine." The cigarette had indeed found the bare skin of his right forearm, but he was beyond pain. "I'm sorry!" Justine ground the cigarette into the dashboard's ashtray. "I'm fine, really," smiled Michael. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay tonight?" "Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll go home, light some candles, and read some poetry. And my brother's there if I need to talk to someone." "You know you can call me, too." "I know." "And promise me you'll call that guy that's in love with you. Promise me you'll tell him how you feel." "I promise." "Good. And you know how to get out of here?" "It's Hadleyville. How hard can it be?" Michael looked at his house. He thought of the endless stream of lonely, miserable nights spent inside those menacing walls, each the same, each painful. He knew at least one more was waiting. And this one would be worse. Mel had walked out on him. "I so dread going in there." Hopelessly rapt in his own fear, he momentarily forgot there was another with fears of her own. "You sure you're okay?" "Yeah." "And you'll call if you need to talk?" Justine gave a shy nod. She hugged him again, this time venturing to kiss him on the cheek as they pulled apart. Michael looked into her eyes and smiled. He gave her hand a squeeze. "Thank you." He stepped from the car, closing the door quietly out of respect for his sleeping neighbors. He gave her one final wave good-bye, turned, and welcomed the inevitable.