Page 32 of Tank
All his firsts came to my mind. First word. First time he said ‘dada’ and the smile that overtook his face when he did. The first time he defied me. The first time he fed himself all on his own. And so on. There were too many to picture them all. But fuck, if I didn’t try.
I’d lost track of where I was. I had completely forgotten that I was in a bar and that there were people around me. The tear that escaped my eye brought me back to reality. The one where there would be no more firsts for my son and I wouldn’t see him grow and blossom anymore.
I must have sat there longer than I realized because when I opened my eyes, the bar was empty. The lights were turned down and the only person left was Dya, who happened to be standing there, watching me closely. This time there was no bar standing between us. There was no solid barrier keeping us at a distance. Her eyes tracked the tear as it slid down my cheek.
Her steps were light, her heeled boots hardly making a sound as she made her way to me. But they felt heavy, each step seeming to take all her strength, like she was having to will herself towards me. Or it could have been she was trying to fight the momentum. I had no idea.
The air was silent around us. Her hand reached out and seconds later her soft, slender thumb brushed away the wetness from my face. Like she’d touched fire, her hand fisted and dropped to her side.
“Come,chal-baro,” she said as she reached for my hand. I had no idea what she’d called me or what the fuck kinda language that was, but I loved the way the words seemed to roll off of her tongue.
“No, I can go. I’m fine to drive,” I replied, knowing it was true because I hadn’t had nearly enough to prevent me from doing so. I found it shocking, really.
“Yes, I am well aware of that. But I don’t think you should be alone.” With that, she dropped her empty outstretched hand and walked to the back, leaving me no choice but to follow.
The walk up to her apartment was silent. Neither of us knew what to say. Or so I guessed. Then again, she wasn’t exactly one for words.
Once we were inside, she pointed to the bed before she walked to the sink and filled up a pot with water. I stood there, just over the threshold. I don’t know why I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure why it all felt so natural. Her motion for me to take my place in the bed. The way she leisurely filled the pot then placed it on the stove. Like it was all routine and normal. Like this was what we did all the time.
Not knowing what else to do, I lumbered over to the bed and flopped down on the edge. With my feet planted on the floor, I wrapped my arms around my knees. The bed under me only managed to keep my ass an inch or two off the floor level.
She moved around the kitchen with a grace of being grounded. If that even made any sense. Her boots were silent against the hard floor, but each step seemed heavily placed. She was an enigma that was for fucking sure. She held my curiosity and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure her out. And what bothered me the most, was that I wanted to. She was hard and soft.
The last woman that had held my attention like this nearly wrecked me. She left me because I wasn’t enough to hold her attention and I’d always wondered what I could have done differently. I wondered how I could have been the man that she needed. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t me. It was her need to not be tied down that had her running. I wasn’t enough. Logan wasn’t enough. That was something that always hit me in the gut, the sharp pain stabbing me hard at the thought of it all.
“Here. Drink,” Dya said, holding a cup of something hot in front of my face. Unsure, I grabbed it and inhaled the rising steam and I nearly gagged at the too earthy scent that filled my nose.
“The fuck is this shit?” I barked before I could bite my tongue. It smelled like the worst things you could think of, left out in the sun all day, then steeped in hot water.
She eased herself down into the chair across the room and looked at me completely unaffected by my outburst. She casually sipped her tea, despite the fact that it was burning hot. Her eyes penetrated mine the entire time.
“Tea.” The only thing that moved was her mouth as she spoke the word.
“No offense, but I don’t think I can drink that,” I said as I set the mug down on the floor next to the bed. Even if I wanted too, there was no way I was going to singe off my taste buds to do so. Then again, if I did I might not be able to taste how bad it might be. “Why am I here?” The question rolled off my tongue like I’d meant to ask it and I wasn’t sure if I was questioning myself or her.
“Before tonight you were a broken man. I could see it in your eyes. I could feel it in waves coming off of you. You didn’t even bother trying to hide it,” she said after a few moments of silence. I couldn’t argue with her words. I, in no way, was trying to hide the burdens I was carrying. She was only telling me things I already knew. “But tonight…tonight you walked into that bar a resigned man. Broken can be fixed. But a man with an empty look in his eyes is a man who has given up. That is you tonight.”
Those were the most words she’d ever said to me at once. Maybe ever. But she wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. And it hadn’t slipped past me that she didn’t really answer my question. She didn’t tell me why she brought me up here instead of letting me go. I couldn’t help but wonder why I’d even followed her. I seemed to do it blindly. I sat there, stuck in place, unable to move even a muscle. I couldn’t even swallow down the lump in my throat.
Angel.
The word rang out in my head. It hung there, resonating like the last strum of a song left to fade out.
My gaze snapped to hers and by the look that was on her face, I must have said the word out loud. She had a look of confusion and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a flash of horror behind her eyes.
I shook my head and shifted my focus. I took her in, trying to figure out where her beauty had come from. Her beautiful caramel skin. Her thick, brown hair. The odd accessories that adorned various parts of her body. And how could I forget the weird as fuck tea?! My sisters drank tea all the time, and it never smelled anything like that shit.
“What are you?” I asked knowing full well that it was rude. But I was a man who found myself caring about such things less and less. “Gypsy?” I questioned as the word popped into my head.
A disgusted look washed over her face and I wondered if I had offended her, but I had no idea why I would have.
“Roma. Romani. Traveler. Wanderer. Yes. But never Gypsy.” She sounded as if she wanted to spit when she said the word. But then she looked at me and her face softened. It was the smallest change, but I noticed it. It was as if she could tell that I didn’t mean to offend her with my stupidity. Because, really, I had no idea that was such a bad term. “The word is used to describe the lowest of society. Like we are dirty. Filthy.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I nodded slowly, taking in all her words. “So you are…a traveler?” I knew a little about their culture. I was confused as to why she was out here alone because I was under the assumption they lived and traveled in packs. But then again, what did I know. General American assumptions, I guessed.
“I was born into akumpanias—a tribe or clan—but I am on my own now. I have been for a long time,” she said in a calm tone.
I knew there was more to that story but I could tell from the way she brushed it off that she wasn’t going to talk about it. I feared to push her because things with her felt like I was walking on the thin edge of a razor blade. And for some reason, I didn’t want to piss her off because I didn’t want to leave.
