I'll Share With You My Heartbeat

thirty four

"Hey, Lennon."

Here in this dark, wretched alleyway next to dumpsters crawling with rats, Lennon watched the lines around him blur into the softest strokes of pastel. The same soft colors that he associated her with. He pinched apart those two words and found her usual timidness and gentleness, something he never counted on coming across again.

His throat was dry. "Hey, Precious. It's been a while," he replied, trying desperately to sound as neutral as possible.

"Yeah."

"You called me."

"Yeah."

He questioned if her word count would exceed two. "Is everything okay?"

He could see her now— the brightest picture in his head. Her woolly coal-black hair that complimented her bronze skin. Her habit of sticking a flower in her hair during walks in the park. And her summer dresses.

A thousand possibilities raced through his head, none of them ever speculating the choked sob that broke through the phone.

"Precious?" Lennon said alarmingly.

Another sob, this time muffled.

"What's wrong? Where are you? Are you— are you safe?"

"I'm safe," she answered, breathing in deeply, "I'm sorry. I know this was so out of the blue but— um, we're coming back."

No you're not. Lennon gawked at the wall in front of him. "I'm sorry?"

"My momma got into a fight yesterday with an audience member. They pushed her off the balcony in the theatre and she broke her leg."

The boy's features twisted into justifiable mortification. "What? Which momma?"

"Momma Alayah," Precious blabbered on, voice sharping in pitch, "And— and momma P decided that that was the last straw and she said to me that we're leaving and we're moving back. Honestly, I thought it was just an excuse but" —she sighed— "Well, I guess I also used this as an excuse to call you for... you know..."

Lennon thought back to Cal. "Emotional support?" he suggested meekly, mind in a muddle.

She inhaled and exhaled briefly. "Yeah. Um, I was at the hospital waiting room." Her sentences wavered dangerously close to tears. "And I was so frustrated and angry and I just wanted to tell you—"

Lennon gulped.

"— that I hate this place and I never wanted to leave and I'm so sorry for not telling you earlier cause I thought if I never mentioned it then it would go away but I was just stupid and it's been— what? Two years? I just want to go home."

"Oh," he said, shaken, "It's okay, Precious. I was stupid too." His heartbeat quickened when he looked through the door gap and spotted his manager strolling near the bar. "When are you coming back?"

"Might be the end of this week."

"Okay, okay Precious I'm so sorry but I'm in the middle of work right now," he hurried, "My shift ends at 4 pm. Can I call you then? Like, as I'm walking home?"

"When is 4 pm?" she asked, catching on to Lennon's quickened pace, then elaborated with, "Time zone difference."

"Uh, in two hours."

"Okay."

"I'm so sorry."

"No it's okay."

"I'm really glad you called though," he made sure to say, "I really am."