Voyez


The first time I saw her again was a Saturday. She was with some blonde haired hotshot who was complaining about how he knew they should have taken his car, with a full tank of gas. "Logan," was the only word she uttered, but the name was laced with annoyance and exhaustion. Her eyes, her pretty blue eyes, were ringed by darken flesh and her neatly groomed hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun.

His face pulled into a frown. I was behind the counter still, a tabloid covering up my face, although doubted she would recognize me anymore. Brown stubble camouflaged my face, and unkempt hair masked my eyes. The poorly lit gas station hardly provided any clear sight against the vast cloak of night. Noir. I wondered what she was doing out so late—my eyes flickered over to my right, the clock turned two.

She was rustling through her handbag, clearly having trouble finding something. Logan was standing in front of a row of fridges holding Pepsi products, a sneer on his face. "C'mon, babe," he called to her as he walked over, "Let's go." Babe was such a common term, and it was my turn to sneer.

"One second," she bit her lip, "I can't find my wallet."

"Just let me pay," Logan fiddled with a gold ring on his middle finger, sliding it on and off in boredom.

"No, I can pay," Rory insisted.

"Why you just can't carry a credit card like everyone else, I'll never understand," he muttered exasperatedly.

"You know why. I've told you a million times. When everyone else goes broke because of their college loans, I'll at least be at a clean zero," Rory pulled out a twenty with satisfaction. "Here you go!" She slapped the bill down on the grimy counter, and I slowly pulled down the magazine from hiding my face.

Same old Mary, I thought with a sad satisfaction. Some things were always the same. She was always resilient and resourceful, as well as always dating total losers.


1/10/08