Jane Lark - I Found You

He laughed.

I found him so easy to get along with.

Think like you’re his sister . Sister… Sister… Sister …

I sat down on the beanbag before the TV and leaned forward to turn it on.

The beanbag was the only piece of furniture he had beyond the mattress in his bedroom. I doubted anyone else had been in his apartment but me. It was hardly set up for entertaining.

He really did need something beyond an Xbox in his life.

I switched the game on and then picked up the controllers.

He came to sit next to me, handed me a beer and then sipped from his bottle before slouching sideward and resting his elbow on the beanbag next to me.

Fuck!

Think like you’re his sister, Rachel…

Rachel rushed out of the back door of the restaurant, waving her pay packet. “Got it! Are you ready for our big night out?”

I laughed at her over-exuberance. It was just a pay packet. But she was bursting with pride, or perhaps her excitement was over our planned night out.

She’d suggested it. It had been Thanksgiving yesterday but she’d had to work and she’d known I was going to be sitting about the apartment on my own, so to celebrate Thanksgiving, albeit late, and her first pay packet, she’d said we should let our hair down, and go a bit wild––all her words. She’d insisted I went to a club with her. She wanted to get me out of the slow lane, as she called my life, and get me to take a bite out of the Big Apple.

She did make me laugh, and for the last week and half she’d carried me on the tide of her high spirits. It was great having her around, and it had become normal. We were good friends. I felt like I’d known her all my life. Although I still knew very little of her past, and I knew nothing about why and how she’d ended up standing on Manhattan Bridge, wishing herself in the water below.

But that really didn’t seem to matter anymore, because this Rachel was a different person than the one I’d met that first night. This Rachel was constantly smiling, and vibrant, and happy.

I’d eaten at the restaurant during her shifts twice more and both times I saw her laughing and chatting easily with customers, and flirting with men for bigger tips. But it was like she drew energy off people. Like she consumed other people’s smiles into herself and fuelled herself with them.

“So, you up for this?”

“Course. I’m not running away now, you’d call me boring again.”

“Well, you are boring.”

“I’m not going to be tonight, I’m up for anything tonight. Call my bluff and I’ll prove it to you.”

Her smile broadened and it shone in the jet heart of her eyes too.

She wasn’t just an incredibly good-looking woman; she was an incredibly sexy woman when she had her vibe on like this.

She winked at me then, and pursed her lips as she started down the street. “Mmm… Now let me think how might I call your bluff…?” She turned and walked backwards a couple of steps, her pay packet still bobbing up and down in the loose grip of her thumb and forefinger, with the rhythm of her backwards steps. “I’m gonna have to think of something really reckless … ”

I laughed again, at her teasing. She was always teasing me. I loved it. I loved the way she lightened my mood whenever she was around. I’d begun really looking forward to picking her up after her shift. New York no longer seemed like this fog of stuff I couldn’t get on with, because I always had her to look forward to.

I’d come back from work and run; always thinking of meeting Rachel later on. Then I’d get home, shower, and call Lindy, like I’d always done before walking down to collect Rachel.

My calls with Lindy would be their usual dull strained discussions all about life and people back home, what Lindy had done, who Lindy had seen, what my parents were doing, what my friends were doing. Then at the end of the call Lindy often threw in a jab at Rachel. ‘Is she still there? Hasn’t she got the message yet? Surely she’s …’ Sometimes I left my cell on the counter and went to get a drink or something when she started on about Rachel. I never listened anyway, nor replied, just let Lindy get her rant out.

When I came to pick up Rachel she’d breeze out all smiles and questions about what I’d been up to all day at work, and how my run went. Lindy never asked those questions.

I talked constantly with Rach. I couldn’t remember ever talking this easily with Lindy.

Rach and I liked the same TV shows and video games, we had some discussions on music choices, but disagreements made us laugh because she only teased, she didn’t argue. We had the same sense of humor, too.

“Come on you lazy boy,” Rach urged me, before turning to face front again. “I wanna get back and change, I’m not going on our big night out like this.”

I wanted to run with her, she said she’d never run and she wasn’t into it, but I thought she would be if I got her started; she had so much energy, I knew she’d get the buzz. Lindy had never got it. She’d hated me running when I was back at home. She’d begged me to give it up, once.

But I liked running; I’d feel like I’d missed out on something if I didn’t run.

Rachel said she didn’t get running, but she did get what it meant to me. I knew she did, because she always asked where I’d run and how far, and if I’d enjoyed it.

She’d finished two hours early tonight so we had plenty of time to go out, and I knew she’d bought new clothes with money from tips––money from the men she’d flashed her cleavage at as she’d served. But I only knew because she’d asked permission to spend the money on herself before paying me back. I’d told her go ahead, treat yourself, you deserve it.

She’d kissed my cheek, when she’d said thank you, which was the only physical contact we’d had since I’d last fixed up her hand.

She wasn’t wearing the bandage any more, she’d taken it off. The wound was healing okay though, I’d made her hold her palm out and show me.

“Hurry up!” she called from in front of me.

My hands were in the pockets of my leather jacket and my lips twisted to a half smile as I walked. Of course, I could break out into a run and see if she could keep up, her heels weren’t that high.

My hands slipped out of my pockets and I started slowly, jogging past her and glancing back at her over my shoulder. I’d worn my running shoes with my jeans to come fetch her.

She started running too, hitching up her tight pencil skirt with one hand.

I ran a little faster, it didn’t even make me breathless but it was so easy to leave her behind.

“Wait! Hey wait! Not that fast! Wait!”

I upped my pace again, although it was nowhere near the pace I usually ran at.

“Jason Macinlay! I said wait! I can’t keep up with you!”

I stopped dead and turned around laughing. There were others in the street looking at us oddly, I didn’t give a damn.

Rach had her shoes in one hand and her other gripped her skirt, holding it hitched up to the top of her long slender thighs, as she ran the last few paces in stocking covered feet over the cold ground.

She had a good stride. I was sure she’d be good to run with.

When she reached me though, she doubled over panting and pressing her palm to her side. “Dammit. I got a stitch. What did you have to do that for?”

I laughed at her. Well, she could run if she got used to a little exercise. “You need to work out, girl.”

She stood upright, her fingers still pressing against her side as she dropped her shoes onto the sidewalk, and then, when she slipped her feet into them one at a time, putting them back on, she met my gaze. “What I need is a night out, not a work-out.”