Smoke spilled from mouths taking the place of words. It hung in the air, dry and heavy, stifling breath and smudging edges. An occasional sigh would pour from around the corner, and it would curl and roll, washing over bodies, entirely unlike waves of cool water that cleansed dirt and blame from soiled hands.
At times, someone managed to open their lips and breathe something into the room, far enough away from the others, and the smoke would dance and twirl, seductively; and it would rise up, out of this place, taunting them like that. But the smell would remain, in lungs and fingernails.
Kyla sat in the corner of a dimly lit bar next to a girl with big hair. She had been taking pleasure in marinating her worries, but was now getting irritated at the music. It had been on the whole time, an egotistical techno sound, all base and beat, forcing energy into the chests and calves of the corpses around her; hollow as they seemed. Stirring her drink, Kyla continued to ruminate on what she should have done differently or what Abby could have said. “Whatever you want,” was always how it started, and Kyla was too selfish not to take what she wanted, and Abby was too nice not to offer it. They spoke softly, exchanging brief observations regarding this sad town they had ruefully chosen to visit.
“I haven’t heard someone speak English like that in I don’t even know how long.”
Kyla looked up from her wilting mojito. The sentence belonged to a pair of dark eyes, not far away. They were shadowed in a deep-set face and leaning over as if about to whisper something to the browning lime wedge that straddled her glass. Her mouth started speaking without consultation and she heard herself, “We’re both visiting from California.” Forcing her lips to widen, she assumed a friendlier gaze. Pause. Back to herself and away from the resentful feelings. Kyla swallowed. “Are you traveling too?”
She felt Abby’s own mouth stiffen into a smile and attempt to convince herself that she, too, enjoyed talking to men she didn’t know. The stranger’s chuckle luckily broke the desire to roll her eyes.
“Oh no, I wish.” He gestured a hand to the person sitting next to him, “We just moved here a couple months ago.” His fingers led Kyla’s gaze to his compatriot, one who seemed to be half-listening half-struggling to process what had happened several seconds prior, all the while sweating thick drops of marijuana. The beads on his forehead reflected the dancing purple lights, dutifully joining those on her glass.
“We’re out celebrating this guy’s last few days here.” He slapped his friend’s back. Hard. “He’s moving with his new girlfriend.”
At this, Kyla waited for some sort of cheer, a clinking of glasses, or a toss of an arm around a shoulder and a story about them as kids, but instead felt the stale air stiffen even further. The music pulsated. She looked over at the accused, waiting for him to speak. Say something, she thought. Kyla looked over at Abby, whose lips pursed and head was pointed down. She pressed the brown-colored mint in between her thumb and forefinger. They never say anything.
He registered nothing, the one that could speak grunted, and then his eyes for once lit up slightly and he said “Yeah! We’re moving to Budapest. She’s great, you guys would like her.”
“Oh yeah,” the other smirked, “I knew that from the moment I met her. When I moved here.” He looked at me, holding his murky shot. “They welcomed me by picking me up from the airport. Together.” He wasn’t smiling. The shot was tossed back quickly.
Abby stopped torturing her mint.
Dark eyes suggested they go dancing. Slipping easily into her cheerful self, Kyla excitedly got up only to look behind her and see an all-too-familiar sheepish smile-and-shoulder move that wanted to absolve itself of the guilt it so clearly held. “I think I’m just gonna go back and smoke.”
“Are you kidding me?” yelled dark eyes. “Tonight?!”
Abby and I stepped closer to each other, feeling like an invasion of privacy. Kyla flashed back to being caught while parents whispered angrily in the living room. Her cheeks had burned so. They were so tired sounding. It was effortless and elegant. Rehearsed.
Their script continued and Abby looked at her friend. Kyla silently agreed, and arm in arm they walked on, forgetting old lines and their wariness. Her head leaned on Kyla’s shoulder, and they left then, laughing at how foolish, how immature. How they could never. How could we ever.▲
