We Should Talk. (Book One)

Getting Fixed

I pull out the cigarette from my mouth and softly exhale the smoke from my mouth and into the cold, dense air.

I never smoke, but I open a well deserved exception to this case.

I see cars running in different directions and wonder what could be so important that they all have to go so fast.

I don't even really know where I am. I just got in my car, ignoring Horacio's objections and started going right. I turned right on every turn and then took two lefts and a right again and just started driving in a straight line. That's where I am. In the middle of nowhere in a cute little diner called Lady Steve's. Eating a delicious hot dog and wondering where the hell all of these people need to go.

Avi.

Horacio.

Jack.

Jack.

Avi.

Horacio.

That's what has been on my mind for the past hour.

Just those names.

Again and again and again in my head.

Over and over and over.

I take a bite from my french fries and double dip the one I just took a bite from on the ketchup.

In between bites I inhale the smoke.

"Your mama never told you smokin' is bad for you?" I hear, and look in front of me, only to see, in the booth I'm sitting in, a girl with dark lipstick and a big tattoo on her arm, exhaling her own smoke.

"My mama told me not to talk to strangers." I answer.

She smiles and leans forward on the table, getting one of my fries.

"Well, lucky for me my mama's dead. So I get to do whatever I like." She adds with the funniest British accent.

I look down at her shirt that says "PEANUT BUTTER" in big letters and realize how perfect her light-purple short hair is, and I wonder how one person can have so much personality in them.

I laugh.

Now that girl. Her life would make a great story, I bet.

"I don't get to do whatever I like." I tell her. "Which is good, because whenever I do I fuck things up."

"Trust me, life is better when it's fucked up! What a boring life it must be if you don't feel the urge to punch somebody in the face every one in a while."

"It's called a healthy life, I believe."

"Yeah, well, as much as I hate to admit it, you and I, we're not that special. Everyone fucks things up. Everyone."

I sigh and take another sip of my cigarette.

"But what brings you here, anyway?" She asks. "Everyone who comes here comes here for a reason."

"I don't know who I love." I admit. "That's why I'm here. To fix my feelings. They're broken."

"Well maybe I can help you with that." She tells me.

I look at her curiously.

"How do you think you can do that?" I ask.

"Like this: Does he make you feel like your world is complete?"

"Ye-Yes."

"Does he make you feel good about yourself?"

"I guess."

"Does he respect you?"

"Yeah."

"Do you share the same important morals?"

"I think so."

"Can you live without him?"

"Well..."

"Can you imagine your whole life by his side?"

"I...I..."

"Do you love him?"

I look at her surprised.
Surprised at her for giving me the best piece of advice I ever heard.
And surprised at myself for the answer.

"See, the last answer kind of came easily, huh?"

I stand up and put $15 on the table.

"I have to go!" I tell her, running towards the door.

"The name's Ziggy, by the way!" She shouts.

"Thanks for fixing me, Ziggy!" I shout back.

And I go back home.