The Lunatics 2: Push Tumble & Fall

Saturday 10:27 a.m.

But it was the first thing I got. Because I was late. Again.

"I can't explain it," said Jonathan. His gray T-shirt was tight against his arms. His black hair glossy against his dark skin.

Jonathan pulled on my arm as we crossed the street to head over to the RedEye.

The sun was out, but it was early enough that it was still cool.

"Is it because I was late? Is it because I want to go home," I asked, but he didn't respond.

We approached the black wood framed doorway and the entrance to the RedEye: Bar and Kitchen open 24/7.

Jonathan stopped abruptly. He paused and measured his words. He squinted and shook his head side to side like a person who held their tongue only to say worse things with their gestures.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said and turned to go inside the bar.

"Wait," I grabbed his hand and pulled him back outside.

"I hate it when you argue with me. I don't want to fight. Everything is going well between us, what's the matter?" I asked.

A white vintage Cadillac drove by us. Inside it was an angry little man yelling into a walkie-talkie that was attached to a blow horn that sat on the roof of the car. He repeated his tagline to save the people that walked the streets of the Quarter. "Repent to the God-Almighty, and HE WILL come and save you! Repent Sinners! Repent!"

"It's everything and nothing," said Jonathan keeping steady with our argument.

"I need specifics," I insisted.

"I don't know," he shook his head again, "It's the fact that you don't pick up the phone every time I call, or that you take so long to text me back. Or the fact that you are always late, it's like you don't care, Myla. It's your actions."

"What? That's not even a little bit true," I said, "I spend all my time with you. Every single day I see you. I'm not sure what you want?" I played that game with myself where I pretended everything I said was true. It was mostly true. I knew what he wanted. He wanted the one thing I could not give him.

"Sometimes you're staring off into space. God knows what are you thinking about," he said.

"It sounds like you are monitoring me," I said picking up anger.

Jonathan pushed his hands into his back pockets.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say I'm not sure I know you at all," he said.

"That's not fair. We've known each other only for three months. I feel like you know many things about me," I said.

"Really?" Jonathan challenged me.

"Yeah. Really," I crossed my arms. "I don't think you realize how far you've got with me."

"Fine. Then tell me this. Why don't you ever take off those bracelets from your arms?" He stood in front of me. I checked myself. I didn't flinch.

"They are not bracelets they are leather bands. And this is what we are talking about? This is the issue," I said in an offended tone. "My fashion choices?"

"People are saying things," said Jonathan.

"Like what?" I asked.

"They say strange things happen at Laurels," he said, and he grabbed both my hands in a gesture of reassurance that whatever it was I had to tell him—he would understand.

"Of course, strange things happen at Laurels. My family owns an insane asylum. What do you expect Jonathan? If that's such a problem for you then you're shallower than I thought possible in a human being," I said, and I shook away from him. He didn't give me a chance to notice his next move, and he tugged at one of my armbands, so I shoved him inside the bar. "What are you doing? Don't you trust me?" I asked.

Jonathan stood at the door of the RedEye, then he shook his head and walked off behind the bar counter.

Nina Asian Bartender waved hello, and I ignored her.

The back door to the patio was open and the morning light made it hard to see inside the bar. The RedEye was almost empty as expected at this time of the day. Only three guys that seemed like dads, and one guy that looked too young to be at the bar, were inside.

I sat on a stool by the younger guy. His phone was facing up, and the screen was black. He glanced over at the phone and then at me. "It's dead, no charge." Then he extended his hand. "I'm Charles," he said.

"Charles," I shook his hand.

"You're dawling," he said in his local New Orleans accent. "Pretty."

"Thanks," I said.

"Y'all talk rite like a gurl," he said. "Yous a gurl? Or Yous one dem purty boys?"

"A common mistake," I said. "I'm all female."

Jonathan cautiously watched us from behind the bar. He stacked pint glasses while Nina Asian Bartender updated him on the current inventory.

"Have you been coming here long?" I asked.

"Couple of yees," he said. "Flunking out, no' what I mean? Life like I supposed to figure out and shit?" He laughed, and his breath stank pasty white.

"Do you remember when they had the Orange Jukebox in here?"

"Yeah yeah yeah," he said excitedly at the idea of being of help. "Dem box was big and broken and by the bathroom ova day." But instead of pointing to where the bathrooms were, he pointed to the front entrance of the bar.

I turned and jumped off my stool. I walked slowly down the back wall of the RedEye and touched its scaly yellow paint. Framed pictures of eyes hung on the wall. Some were photographs, others were paintings, and all of them were by local artists.

When I made it to the entrance, the warm wind came in through the front door and wrapped around my legs. I was ready to leave when I felt his familiar hands on my waist.

"Myla," Jonathan turned me towards him. He wore the black apron with the RedEye emblem on the left-hand corner. "Maybe I'm just scared." He let his forehead rest on mine, "You make me feel like no one has ever made me feel." I let him have a moment. I turned to face him. I ran my fingers through the back of his head, and he gave into my advances like a loyal, sweet dog.

"You're special to me too," I said. "I don't want you to be upset with me. I hate it when you are mad at me."

"I know," he said. He caressed my cheek with his hand and pulled me into an embrace. Like armor, his arms were wrapped around my shoulders.

When you don't feel the same way about someone as they feel about you, it's impossible to understand how you impact their life, their dreams, their existence. You just can't understand. As much as I knew I was hurting Jonathan, I knew I had to take care of myself first, and at that, I was remorseless.

I held on to Jonathan while I stared out the door. The taco vendor set up his cart right across the RedEye just in time to feed the morning drunks. Then right by the door frame, that's where I saw it. The sunlight hit it enough for me to make out the sharpie lines of the message that had been written the wall.

Jude, Love is insanity.

You are my remedy.

Say you'll Love me forever.

Six Times Four. James.

And then. My phone rang.