Maybe it's the way that she stands. The way that she carries herself. Slouched forward, drunkenly stumbling in place. Her head bowed low. She looks as though she'd be unsure of herself, yet still confident to snap back.
Maybe it's how pretty she looks under the golden street lights. Half her face bathed in the darkness of the night. The other splashing with bright light and wonky colours. How her hair falls delicately in front of her face and how she doesn't push it back.
Maybe it's how pathetic she looks trying to light the lighter. She's dropped two cigarettes out of her mouth attempting to flick the switch the right way. Her staggering does not help and neither does her compulsive and controversial swearing.
Perhaps it's one of those reasons that I walk up to the strange girl.
"Aren't you a little young to be smoking?"
She stops murmuring about how she'd murder the lighter if she could and looks up at me, squinting her eyes continuously.
"My mom told me not to talk to strangers," she warns, dropping another one of her cigarettes. Her words slightly slurred, as if she's deflecting the manner arduously. However, the stench of alcohol on her breath does not aid her in her acting.
"Well, what about a stranger who knows how to work a lighter?"
How about a stranger who won't call the cops?
She takes a moment, leaning back on her heels and catching herself quickly before she falls and hands me the lighter. While she stuffs her hand into her pocket to find another cancer stick, I presume, I flick the top of the lighter and it ignites in one try. She glances up and scoffs before popping the stick in between her teeth.
The fire touches the cigarette, the white of it curling inward.
"Thanks..." she mumbles.
"No problem," I reply after I light my own coffin nail from my own stash.
Handing her back the lighter, I watch as she doesn't breathe in the fumes. She only stares at the stick hanging out of her mouth as it burns further toward her mouth while I inhale and exhale my smoke.
She uses her middle finger and index finger like a proper smoker to bring the cigarette out of her mouth.
"This is my first time smoking. Ever," she announces into the silent air.
"Do you know how to?"
She nods her head solemnly.
"Unfortunately."
She brings the stick back to her mouth and inhales the smoke. Too much of it. She exhales while coughing and I raise my eyebrows unsurprisingly.
"Careful."
"Gee thanks," she barks. But she doesn't throw away the cancer stick. She holds it to her side, the fire away from her leg and picks up an almost invisible container beside her.
The metal of it glints with the melancholy glares of artificial light as she raises it to her mouth and gulps it down. The sounds of liquid echo out of the object when she places it back beside her, her face scrunched together.
"What is that?" I inquire.
"Vodka, apple juice, wine, and a little bit of Coors Light," she chokes out straightfaced.
"That doesn't sound too good."
"Does it look like I care for your opinions at the moment?" She breathes in another bit of smoke, but not as big. She's getting the hang of it quickly.
Even though she is visibly shit-faced, she seems somehow sober. Somehow serious. Somehow determined.
My coffin nail is almost gone, so I throw the butt to the ground, stepping and turning my foot to stop the burning and lean back on the wooden fence behind me.
Cars pass on the uneven street. Their lights flying over the girl. It seems as though she's inching forward toward the street, but it could very well be that she is intoxicated and unsteady.
I watch as she finishes her cigarette with very few coughs and picks up the container again. She lifts it up and over her mouth, making the liquids slide easily down her throat. She chugs the rest down before flinging the canister away on the road. It bounces on the cement with a loud metal sound and rolls around.
The girl turns around to me and crosses her arms, but looks up at the empty sky.
"That was pretty anticlimactic," I remark.
"Yeah, really fucking mature, too," she retorts.
She keeps her face to the sky for two more second before letting her head bend back down to regard me.
"What's your name?"
You'd expect her to be standing quite solidly. But her body is not buddying with her mind, and twitches constantly.
"Jesus."
"That's funny." Though she doesn't laugh or smirk. Neither do I.
"Quite. And what might yours be?"
"Lilith."
"How unfortunate."
"Quite," she growls.
We stand like that for a moment. Just staring. Just watching. She grows annoyed very easily.
"Why are you even here? Why are you even talking to me?" She exclaims, throwing her arms in the air.
I stay silent.
"What? Are you here to save me? To stop me! To be my little hero!?"
The calmness of the night vanishes.
What has she planned to do?
"Because that's fucking hilarious! Jesus has emerged from of the depths of some angsty teen novel to save little, stupid, worthless Lilith!"
A pause. No cars are on the street anymore, except for one a few miles away coming forward at a high speed. Too high of a speed. And Lilith teeters toward the edge of the sidewalk. I lift off from the fence.
"Lilith..." I caution quietly.
"No! No! You do not get to save me! You do not get to stop this!"
The headlights are advancing.
What was she planning to do?
I walk to her carefully and it takes her a moment to realise.
"NO! Stay right there!"
"Lilith, don't do this, you don't want to do this," I plead.
"Fuck you! Fuck you! You don't understand. You don't fucking get it, Jesus! I have to!"
She stands on the corner of the road. She's ready.
"Conley! My name is Conley!"
She lowers her hands. The car is near. The driver is distracted.
"I'm sorry you have to witness this Conley."
The car is near.
I am near.
She jumps.
I jump.
I scream.
The car is near.
Maybe. Just maybe if I had guessed it sooner. Just maybe.
I could have been a hero.
