The door behind us shut violently. To make up for the noise, we descended the stairs quietly in her apartment building. The streets of Astoria were dimly lit and fairly quiet with occasional sirens and cyclists playing music through bluetooth speakers: Thelma Houston, D’Angelo, Cardi B, Morgan Wallen. There wasn’t much sense to any of it.
I wore blue shorts and a blue t-shirt. She wore stripes, like always. The afternoon had been hot, the evening still warm. Both of us had been in moods for different reasons over the last couple of days, however, mine came more frequently and little could be done for me. She slipped quickly in and out. We decided on a walk, the eventual destination to, or at least towards, City Fresh Market to buy “special drinks.” Not alcohol. Just special drinks.
She brought her black reusable Baggu bag with bunnies on it. On our first date years ago, she told me about her pet bunny, Walter. He would hide under the shelves behind a curtain of fabric she had made for him. She showed me a video. He ate dandelion greens.
Earlier in the day, I had written the following note to myself: “You know, I have to say, that at this exact moment, despite some moderate fatigue from waking too early, that I’m feeling okay. There are traces of malaise, contempt, and complacency but that’s par for the course for me.”
By evening, I had slipped into a mood again, what we called the ‘weirds.’ The weirds usually came from isolation, staring at screens, and lack of physical movement. Other times, they came simply from what we called my ‘chronic dissatisfaction.’ In either case, I was screwed and so was any possible companion.
“They have a giant selection of special drinks at City Fresh Market,” she said over her shoulder. She had a habit of walking a few feet ahead of me—with resolve rather than haste.
“Am I allowed two?”
“Two what?” she asked.
“Two special drinks.”
“Of course.”
Things were looking up. The evening before, we had watched Ghostbusters. Usually, she fell asleep after fifteen minutes into a movie while I sat and envied her equanimity and welfare. I wondered if my pensive sadness had been rubbing off on her.
“I don’t have money on me actually.” I checked my pockets although I knew I had nothing on me.
“That’s okay. Special drinks are on me,” she affirmed.
I stepped on green gum that turned gray with dust and dirt in a few moments. Subway trains on tracks were intermittent. We walked past a 24 hour diner made of silver and glass. A table of teenagers, one with a neck tattoo, talked over burgers and sodas.
“I have to buy toilet paper and garbage bags too,” she reminded me to remind her.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Remind me,” she reminded me.
“I will.”
The bright letters and logo lit up the half empty parking lot of City Fresh Market. We entered the grocery store through its automatic doors. The smell of lavender. Fabuloso. Sodium dodecylbenzene sulfonate. A hazardous substance according to the New Jersey Department of Health and Senior Services.
“Here they are,” she pointed to the selection of special drinks. “They have soda, juice, sparkling water, cold tea and coffee, malt beverages, and smoothies.”
“Well, always go with the choice that scares you the most because that's the one that is going to help you grow,” I said like an asshole.
We picked up drinks, put them back, chose more to scrutinize.
“They have Inca Kola. I wonder if that’s any good.” God bless her.
We settled on a couple of sparkling waters from Japan and a cold herbal tea with elderflower and fennel. I reminded her of the garbage bags and toilet paper.
On our walk back, I finished my special drinks in a few blocks. She walked a few feet ahead of me with her bunny bag.
“There are two types of people,” I said. “Gulpers and sippers.”
“Which are you?” she asked.
I held up my empty drinks but she couldn’t see.
“You know, these brick red buildings here are not very inspiring yet, I love them unequivocally. Espresso, water, and cream. It’s a dream. The only thing I look forward to in my day. Coffee and then it’s downhill,” I said and she ignored.
We returned to the apartment. Groceries were put away. We brushed our teeth.
“How are you feeling about your friend who passed away this weekend?” she asked.
“I guess I forgot about it temporarily.”
“Queens will do that to a man.”