lonely hour

ava

they say love doesn't happen overnight.

i walked steadily, no longer confidently, from the coffee shop. despite the let down of not getting the job, i persevered. this was the fifth time, the fifth disappointment. there was nothing i could do, so i walked. and i continued walking, past my street, past my neighborhood and past the next. frustration throbbed through me like a wound, pulsating and seeing red. when my mom called i blew her off, and when my friend called i blew her off too. the plan was to go to school, then to the interview, so i could get the job. just like before, my plans fell through.

my dreams were crumbling around me. with no job i had no money, and no money meant no college. a shot of anger ricocheted by me.

it was late by the time i cooled down, the darkness oozed around me like an infection. shadows hid my guilt, stars illuminated my fears. i walked with my head down, becoming accustomed to the pattern my feet held.

another set of feet came into sight, they turned in front of me, messing up my motif. i faltered, struggling to regain control. their step integrated into mine, i fell into their ways instantly. thump, step, thump, step, thump, step. a limp, hardly noticeable, except to me.

i sped up slightly, falling into place beside the intentional rhythm of a man with a limp. he looks up, i look down. i focus on the pattern.

he doesn't oppose my company. then again, he doesn't favor it. the night aspires to shield his face, once i look up, but proves to be an unworthy opponent to the stars, for they bare all. a crooked nose, a square jaw, a widow's peak. long eyelashes, full lips, dusted freckles. my eyes drink his raw beauty.

we don't speak. the constellations bring enough satisfaction. i spot orion, and absentmindedly point it out.

"that's orion, the hunter. he lies on the celestial equator." it's quiet. usually i don't talk to strangers, especially random thoughts like these. impulse keeps me going.

"he has seven main stars." i say, fumbling with the pattern. he remains stable.

when i welcome the silent darkness once more, i'm surprised by a voice, "tell me more."

and so i'm talking.

i show him the zodiac constellations, explaining the stories behind them, and ending with the scorpius in relation to orion.

"there are many versions of the myth," i pause, curious to see if he's still listening. when i stop, he glances down at me, waiting patiently for me to continue.

i can't help but smile, recalling the legends as i keep the pace.

"some say orion tried to charm artemis, so she sent the scorpion to kill him. others say gaia, the earth, sent scorpius when orion boasted that he could kill any beast."

a look of shy content eases into his expression. we come to an intersection. we stop, despite the empty streets.

"what do you think?" he asks lowly, sliding a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. i watch as he does, quietly. when i talk, the exhales expose the cold.

"orion had everything, but he wanted her, maybe she even wanted him too. but he couldn't have her, never would. so she sent scorpius to get rid of him." i lean back against a lightpost. he follows my lead, my pattern. a cigarette lays precariously between his lips, unlit.

he watches me as i study him, placing and replacing the cigarette from his mouth, drawing my attention. i can't quite put my finger on it, what's alluring about him. no upfront charm, or godly features. i hate smoking. then what?

he moves suddenly, ruining the order. his cigarette is returned to its box. without a word, he walks away.

thump, step, thump, step, thump, step.