The Baths of Times Square

Chapter 2 - Bexley

I stick in one earbud in my ear and let out a loud sigh, slouching a bit in relief. A man with greasy hair in a business suit gives me a weird look, and quickens his pace. But I really don't care. I turn on to 11th avenue along with another couple, each staring longingly into each other's eyes. They both giggle and the man slides his hand into hers, twirling her ring. They practically skip across the street. I turn on my favorite band, Half of Infinity, and as when I hear the first chord of bass ring through my head I close my eyes slowly. I know I should probably be listening to a lecture or textbook or something like that, but I can't bring myself to do it. Not when Half of Infinity's new album is coming out in, I check my watch, 16 days, 12 hours, 23 minutes, and 15 ... 14 ... 13 seconds. I look around quickly to make sure I won't run into anything, and then allow my eyes to fall shut. Besides, I know these streets well enough anyway. 

When I look into your deep blue eyes, all I see are fireflies ... 

I begin to mouth the words, and they taste sweet on my lips. I sing in mute until I hear the familiar sound of the construction workers by my building. I quickly tuck my earbud away in my coat pocket. "Well, hello lovely young lady." Gus yells over the sledgehammer's grinding. He does a small bow, and coughs from the dust. Pulling off his orange jacket, he walks over to the fence. His fellow workers don't even notice him. He expects me to curtsey back, but I instead stand there, my fingers still in my pocket. "Aw," he pouts, reaching out his hand to me. I cautiously reach out and lay my fingers in his clammy palm. "Hi Gus." "Hi Bex. How's ... how are things going?" He goes quiet. The sunset casts a shadow on his stubbly chin. "Good! "Good? Oh, that's great Bex!" I'm surprised he doesn't break into dance like he sometimes does. He flashes me a toothy grin. Suddenly I hear a bark from his boss and cringe. "Well, I gotta get goin'. I'm glad you're feeling good!" he calls over his shoulder as he runs away. 

"Me too," I mumble, and for once in my life I mean it.

I walk inside, grab the key to my room out of my backpack and run up the stairs at incredible speed, suddenly remembering something urgent. I bound down the hall, nearly tackling Mrs. Rusco, and yank open my apartment door. 

I open the window and a gust of cool air flies in, sending bits of chipped paint from the ceiling fluttering down. I sift through the many buckets of junk under my bed until I find the candle and matches, and place them in the center of the room. I run over and grab the picture frame from my nightstand. I gingerly place it in the pile, slowing down. I glance out the window. Yep, still sunset. I get on my knees and light the candle, having to use up three matches. I pause. I look over at the photo. I reach out a hand and, with trembling fingers, trace the corners of the picture. 

I see Dad.

His shaved head. I miss rubbing the top of it for good luck. His best suit. I remember spilling paint on it a week later. His smile. I miss it. I miss it all. I miss it all so much, it hurts.

"Happy birthday, Daddy." I whisper as the wind slowly lifts my hair. I sit in silence, admiring his deep blue eyes.

Like fireflies.