Pusher Blue Chapter 4

Was she offended or intrigued that I was the only one who didn’t slip a paper-president in her jar? Either way, she invited her self to my table, with dues of vodka shots. I don’t turn down free booze.
  “The silent boy only drinks..” She often spoke in strange little quotes like that. Few I recognized.
"You sure I havn't seen you somewhere before..?"
I thought that line was retired. I set my empty shot glass on the table, and nodded. I had nothing to say, I was too busy wondering if she ever told the truth; whatever that was.
   She continued, “Anyway, after Canada I moved to Anchorage. You know, its light all summer and dark all winter. Took me awhile to readjust to normal society.”
She chuckled.
I didn’t call her out on her lies. Though it was obvious she had never been to Alaska. Anchorage was too far South, it had relatively normal light patterns. But if she wanted to be some one else, who am I to stop her? No one is who they are anyway. Besides, I found her rubbish almost charming.
  The waitress’ began hook to all the chairs on their tables, and sweep the floors. Closing time. I’d been there for it far too many times. All the red and yellow lights began to click off in rows. It reminded of prison blocks at “Lights Out”.
  I was collapsed over the table, on my pillow of arms. Hunched over and staring up at the black haired pianist.
 “I should go,” My tongue was drunk. “They’re locking up.”
She lowered her eyes, and traced the rim of her glass with her finger. “I know,” Gently nodding. “ I want to show you something first.” She stood from the table, and slowly walked towards the back exit. I had almost nearly memorized it. That careful sway of intentional freedom. Rotary shoulders like forced confidence. She was always deliberate to step lightly, toe first. A show of grace, people would think her delicate.
My eyes began to blur over. They felt like lukewarm bathwater, ready to drain. I tried to keep her in focus. She clicked her head, motioning for me to follow with my broken-spindle legs.
 I was lead out onto the trash dock behind The Red Moon. That horribly familiar smell of tar and urine. Old thai. She grabbed at my wrist, and lead me directly through another door, almost hidden in a dark corner.

   Wherever she had lead me, it was dark. Pitch black. I felt her fingers grasped around my wrist. She was standing close and I could smell her perfume. Almost like lavender and wood.
“Still with me?” She spoke softly. I could feel her breath on my face, not offensive breath, but warm, and comforting. At that moment I wanted to curl around her neck and learn her taste. I felt revitalized in that dark someplace, no longer muffled in a life of static. I could feel my heart beat, almost like it was real. My fingers were warm and pulsing. I slowly guided my hand to where her neck would be and gently stroked her jaw line with my thumb.
“Still with you.” I exhaled.
I felt her hand touch my face in turn, and slowly tilt my head back. I closed my eyes in a calm suspense, while grasping my fingers around the back of her neck.
“Good. We go up.” She didn’t sound sultry. I opened my eyes to see a soft light illuminating a tall tower of wooden stairs. We Go Up was apparently not a suggestive pick-up line.
She grabbed my hand and quickly lead me up the stairs. My feet tried their best to find the steps in the dark. My left hand crawled the squared wood banister, felt like the sawdust had never been wiped clean. Smooth and dirty like silk grime. She had my right hand in hers, leading me up coiling stairs. I was immersed in the smell of dried wood and old brick, and began to approach the light at the top. I watched her directly in front of me, almost floating up the stairs. Her coat behind her swaying like a shadow, the figure in the dark. She turned back to me, “Almost there.”
Finally, she stopped. The light was produced from a door, and was now showing me her face, and accenting the blue in her hair. She leaned over the wood railing, looking deep into the nothingness. Her persona had worked. I found myself in awe of the exquisite silhouette in front of me. How gentle in wonderment. Fragile in grace. If she were not human, she would have been a swan. Pure and clean, and clear. Then she spit into the deep chasm, waited for a few seconds, and “pit”, the sound of her diving lugi splatting on the ground. She laughed and turned to me “Long way down..”
Funny, my legs were at ease, and breath found me easy. She pulled down the squeaky handle, and flung open the door.

A cataclysm of white and red light washed over me like rapids. We stepped out onto the tar, to behold the large, gaping, deep blue sky. The vast fields of layered buildings and shining lights, old train stations and abandoned opera houses. Watchful churches and the like. My silver city, set ablaze.
“Nice huh?” She took a deep inhale, while looking about the sky.
“Yeah..” I began to walk closer to the edge of the building, peeking over the side. My chest felt warm, and my feet felt soft. The cool breeze blew against my face, and I could finally breathe.
“Come here.” She called to me. I turned around to see her balancing on the base of the red dooms-day globe. She was moving her arms about, and sticking out her leg, trying to balance in place. And forming her coat in different ways, then stopping in position.
I let a laugh escape..”What are you doing?”
“Come up here.”
I obeyed, and hopped up on the white metal scaffolding.
“Look.” She posed again. I looked down to the street and saw her shadow, disguised as an elephant. The light from the ‘Red Moon’ was casting her silhouette on the sidewalks, far below.
“Okay, you do one.” She let her arms flop at rest.
“I don’t know any.” I mumbled with a smile.
“Everyone knows one shadow puppet.”
I thought for a moment, and then tucked my head down, and craned one arm up, making it look as if it were attached to my skull, and began to fluff my hair.
She laughed and exclaimed. “An ostrich!”
I relaxed my arms to the side. And looked back to her. “What’s your name?”
 I had a strange feeling in my chest, and not just from the ostrich hump my head had formed. Warm and stirring. Was it the beginnings of love? Or the fact that she had been drugging my drinks all night. She inhaled in answer. This is…
“Malia”