It was about half past ten when I got off my shift. I tell you, it may have been easier than real bartending, but it had it's own difficulties. messing up drinks were easy, and that particular day, it was hard to concentrate. I wasn't sure if Zerah would keep my secret and that distracted me that day. Even the manager, Stella Carey asked me about it.
Damn, Stella Carey. She was the kind of adult woman I would have loved to turn into. She was a dynamic young woman of twenty four, divorced and with the alimony opened 'The Rasa'.
In any case, after changing into my own clothes, and feeling better after drinking a cup of tea prepared by my boss, I left for Feather.
As soon as I walked out the glass door, I felt a presence creeping down my spine, as if wanting to kill me. At least, that was what I felt.
"You're finally out," the presence said.
I was scared at first, but as my brain calmed down again, I got mad.
"What are you doing here Zerah?" I cried out, exasperated.
"Hey, hey, calm down. Why so bitter?" he said calmly, calming me to a degree.
But he was the last person I needed or wanted to see at that moment.
"First of all, you show up at my work place, discovered my secret source of income, making me nervous all day, making me unable to attend to the customers properly because I knew that you could divulge my secret anytime you please; and then you sneak up my back, to scare me. I thought I was going to be mugged!"
"Hold up, sweet heart," he said casually at first, "I have been to 'The Rasa' for a year and a half as soon as I got my black card," he continued, his voice lacing with honey, "And, what a flattering confession, Lisa. I was in your mind the whole day," he smiled, "That makes me very happy."
"um, no. No!" I said, "No, it's no flattering. It's problematic."
"But I was here," he tapped at my temples," the whole day, right?"
"I guess you could say that," I shrugged.
"Then, that makes me happy," he said, walking ahead, "It's always a pleasure to be remembered."
That made me realise the first layer of him: His desire to be remembered. That was also the first red flag(?) not quite a red flag because that was not exactly a bad or toxic thing, but it was an indication to something deeper than what he showed out.
He turned back, head slightly tilted, "Come on, I can give you a lift."
I nodded and followed. Two thoughts were on my head: first, I was a little intrigued; second, He's such a kind soul! Free lift!
I was glad.
He led me to a motorcycle, a black one. I really don't know what kind it was, for want of interest in that field. I didn't care what it was or how it was as long as I was getting a free ride back home.
"Hold on tight, I tend to speed up" he said, as I climbed to his back, "and let me know if I'm going too fast or if you're scared or even slightly motion sick. We'll work out a way that will be the most comfortable."
"Okay," I said quietly.
But I was damn impressed. Ugh, what a sucker I was for a caring man. Damn, I was already kind of into him, now that I think about it. I didn't know back then, but he really was a courteous person in his own right.
He didn't lie when he said he tended to speed up, because we were literally zooming through the town. But what struck to me as oddly nice was that he stopped at every red light.
When we stopped, I mean SCREECHED at the Feather parking lot, my head felt so flushed with the sudden inertia.
"Well that was so brave of you," he said, chuckling and removing his helmet, "Even Sana can't take that speed. But it's convenient, isn't it? It took us twenty minutes, when it normally takes thirty five."
"Yeah sure," I said with a sceptical face.
"I'll walk you to your apartment, come on," he said leading the way.
He had a way of doing things. He liked leading. And I was a follower. It would seem like we complimented each other initially. But don't be fooled, people. Problems would arise soon.
"Is there something bugging you?" he said, as we went up the elevator.
Yes. There was something bugging me. And I wanted to ask him questions.
Are you afraid of oblivion? Why are you afraid of oblivion? Why do you want to be remembered?
I didn't ask him these. I wasn't ready to bear the weight of his possible answers.
"Do you have a driver's license?" I squeaked out.
"Yeah," he grinned, "a fake one."
"Bold of you to speed up all the way, when your license is a fake," I said light heartedly.
"Bold of you to assume that we're stopping even if a cop attempts to pull us over," he snorted with a laugh.
DING. His floor came open.