Waking Up, Dozing Off, Waking Up

a short story I wrote before dinner

That's much too many watermelons, she thought. Too many for this time of—beep beep beep—Darkness. Well, next to darkness. The light of dawn was just starting to rear its unwelcome, beautiful head. Footsteps and conversation snuck under her door—never a quiet morning in this place. Still not quite sold that she wasn’t still dreaming, she lumbered out into the hall. 

The policemen moseyed past. 

“Here again?" she asked. 

“Ah yeah. Gotta get out of the house, ya know?" she didn't. It seemed to her they weren't so much getting out of the house as they were getting into another. But they were professionals. 

No use making breakfast with all this commotion; off to work. That was the hope anyways. Seventeen blocks later (she took what can’t even be classified as the long way, for no one else would ever more than double the eight block affair with all her signature switchbacks) she arrived outside the boarded up Blockbuster just as the sun presented in full above the San Gabriels. 

And of course there he was, sitting on that same curb. He was always there, but he was never there.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up.

“You’re early,” she replied. She wasn’t going to lose the un-staring contest. The weather would’ve been perfect if the mood was, but that’s how it was going these days.

"I don't understand you," he spat.

"For lack of trying," she half-hocked. 

The girl’s name was Hae. Hae: short for something. Or so he supposed—he'd never bothered to ask, not his style. He called himself Fred. Everyone knew it didn't suit him but they went along anyway. People are nice enough.

“I don’t think they’re coming today,” Hae said.

“No, probably not. It’s been three weeks since the last gig. Crisis acting is a young man’s game.” said Fred. Fred said these kinds of things but this time it was true. 

He couldn’t think of anything to say but Fred couldn’t ever think of staying quiet either so, some bullshit.

“They don't make idioms anymore,” he offered. “Flies must've been getting in the ointment all the time back in the day.”

Hae’s glasses had been growing looser. She didn’t know why or if that was bad or if anything should be done about it. Fred wasn’t going to notice, but she figured somebody would.

"Where's your last cigarette?" Hae asked.

"About two blocks up the street. All burnt up," Fred thought for a beat until he thought of a good one. He smiled, "Wind's blowing hard. You might be able to catch a bit." 

But she was thinking about how purple paints the best sunsets, plays well with others. And he knew her mind was the wandering kind that wouldn't stop just two blocks away so he just had to sit in it while she went on her walkabout. And he didn't think much except for thinking about the thoughts he'd never know she's having, things he could never think of, places he'll never have a place in. Suddenly, he got very scared and the fear spun round and round and round in his head like laundromat lunch.