Page 25 of Underground Prince

I used to be afraid of the dark, of creatures disguised as shadows, ready to leap at me from corners or drag me under the bed. It was an ingrained fear, something I couldn’t shake even when I was old enough to live on my own.

Until.

These days, I understood small fears for what they were: fanciful, ridiculous and ignorant. I knew what real terror was now, and it wasn’t of strangers, or monsters, or home invasions and random attacks. No, the real danger lay in waking up each day thinking you’d survive it, and in taking for granted that everyone else you loved would be okay, too.

Life had a way of just ending, in a regular moment, on a clear night, where the last thing to be afraid of would be a human mistake.

10

MAGNOLIA PETALS

Smack.

“Oompf.” I pushed against the fabric obstructing my mouth.

“Wakey wakey,” Verily singsonged as she removed the pillow from my face.

“What a true friend you are.” I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Waking me up so gently.”

“Like delicate would ever work with you,” Verily said, perching on my bed. “So, you went out last night?”

I smacked my lips together, my mouth feeling like a cat crawled into it and decided to have kittens. “Yep.”

“Then I guess you weren’t able to finish my edits for this morning.”

With a shaky swoop of my hand, I exposed the litter of paper and my laptop underneath the tangle of covers. “Wrong, friend. I finished.”

And I did, coming home and staying up until five in the morning, armed with a sobering mind and coffee, scribbling, mumbling, and reading furiously in order to avoid the acceptance that would swim across Verily’s face the next morning. Like she expected I’d fail her.

“Oh!” She flipped open my laptop, skimming through the notes I’d left on the screen.

“Ass,” I said, pretending to push the lid down on her fingers. “You’re looking for further proof, aren’t you? Check your email. I sent it to you already.”

“I’m just verifying.” She grinned at me. “Thank you. Now go shower. You smell like… is that whiskey?”

I thought about it. “Maybe. Can’t really remember.”

She opened her mouth and I stanched the incoming lecture by saying, “Not talking about it, Vare. I’m fine. Home safe and only slightly hung over.”

I slid out of bed and covered up the wash of dizziness by picking up my pace into the hallway.

“You really need to find a better person than Matt to hang out with,” she said, turning back to my computer.

I didn’t correct her. All reasoning pointed to the fact that I should let my best friend know I was out with our “boss,” but Verily was constantly worried about my choices. It was better to protect her than force her to witness another unexpected twist in my haphazard destiny.

I showered, smelling like almonds and magnolia (all thanks to Verily and her love for mysterious body washes) instead of the bitter tang of stale alcohol. Throwing my damp hair into a bun, I stepped into skinny jeans and a green V-neck sweater and called myself ready.

It was only when I stubbed my toe on the coffee table that I realized I hadn’t put in my contacts. I was a little bit more hung over than I thought. Cursing, I headed back to the bathroom and by the time my vision was restored, Verily was waiting for me at the door.

We offered up light conversational topics as we walked to the subway. It was amazing that all it took was one thought, a brief remembrance, to ruin a moment. It was all we needed to recollect that we weren’t the same anymore, and both of us avoided it like we would a spider in our sink.

We parted ways at Christopher Street, and I made my breakfast shift at a gastro pub, The Black & Aug, named after the owner’s slobbery mountain of a black Lab mix, Auggie. I discovered a spark of focus somewhere inside, trucking me along despite the mild ache permanently nestled behind my eyes. I took orders and fumbled two, but as the morning wore into the day-glow of afternoon, it was as if I was never up all night with a mysterious poker boss drinking beer at a dive bar.

I met up with Verily at four, after hanging out at Washington Square Park when my shift ended. With my meager salary and tip share, I purchased a coffee and found an available bench, crossing my ankles over the asphalt path and doing what I always did in the city when given the chance—looked up. The tree leaves above me were flecked with gold from the eastern sun, the clouds white and puffed. The surrounding architecture was a staggered hodgepodge of builders’ dreams. Homes, businesses, schools, restaurants, all held their places with wrought iron and brick, soil and asphalt, car horns, street dancers, trumpets, shouts. Verily would notice the rare beauty in our city jungle—a burst of freshness in the midst of smog. I saw a city full of promise and ruin.

“Found you!”

Verily fell beside me. “Good day?” she asked, then spotted my coffee. “Oooh, gimme.”

---