After Life

18

My fingers tapped incessantly on the table top in front of me. My nails made an annoying clicking sound repeatedly, but I didn't care if I was bothering those around me. My chin was propped up against my opposite hand, my eyes flickering around the room from the doorway, to the other patrons around me, to my constantly tapping fingers.  I wasn't really moving at all, and yet I had yet to stay still since sitting down at the small table against the window almost ten minutes prior.

The red diner chair I sat upon was uncomfortable, and I found myself constantly twisting my legs in various positions to try and find some way to relief the discomfort in my rear. The décor in the Soup Kitchen was something out of an old fifties movie, with the red vinyl and metal chairs, the cold metal tables and the odd cartoon clad menus. But their décor was not their draw. It was the endless number of options they had for the best soups in New York. On cold winter days, like this one, it was usually the first place the student population of NYU thought of when wanting something home cooked and warm. Which was probably why it was currently so busy in the tiny establishment.

After getting off the phone with Harry almost an hour before, I laid in bed for several minutes reeling in the emotional roller coaster I had endured in such a short time. First, my mind still fought against the images from my dream. It was frightening, and yet, had no basis in reality. Usually I could link my dreams to something from my days previous or something I had thought of before bed. Nothing in this dream made any sense to me, and all I could see was Harry's blood stained face haunting my vision.

Next I found myself going back and forth through the myriad of emotional states Harry had thrust upon me during our short conversation. He was tumultuous as always, and you would think I would have become somewhat adjusted to this tendency after spending a little more time with him. But that had yet to be the case. He started out teasing, asking if he had woken me; surprised me by asking to get together; flat out right flabbergasted me by saying he wanted to see my images; made me nervous at the tension in his voice when he realized he had admitted he wanted to see them; then almost threw me off an emotional cliff when he let it slip that he thought I was amazing.

I knew it was a casual slip of the tongue, one of those moments when your mind is running ahead of your mouth, and the words don't quite come out as you meant. I could tell Harry was just as caught off guard by his statement as I had been, since he had damn near hung up on me after saying it.

I didn't let it bother me, however, and made a mental note not to put any thought into it. It was nothing more than a slip of the tongue and I didn't want this already uncomfortable meeting to be clouded by something that he surely didn't mean to say.

Instead, after several moments of inner reflection, I peeled myself out of my bed, had a quick shower, and pulled on jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Twisting my damp blonde hair into a knot on my head, I transferred the images I had chosen for my project onto my tablet, and slid in into my purse along with a few other items. I figured since I was already out and about, and so close to the library, I would head over there after lunch with Harry and try and work on my project statement. I had no classes today, and other than working at the bar later that night, my day was my own.

Which brought me to my current state, of drumming my fingers annoyingly onto the hard table top, waiting for Harry. I was early, I knew, but the longer I waited for him, the more nervous I became. What if he didn't show up? What if he realized it was a mistake to come and meet up, and decided not to? What if he was face palming himself over his slip before we hung up, and was avoiding me now?