Eastern Lights

by Brittainy Cherry

  We walked over to the bar, and I ordered the drinks. I noticed Captain’s disappointment about not being able to pay, but he didn’t complain or fight me on the subject. A part of me couldn’t understand why he wanted to talk to me so badly. Another part figured maybe it was as easy for him to talk to me as it was for me to talk to him.

  Maybe he enjoyed the effortlessness of it all too.

  “I just realized…we spent the past thirty minutes talking, and I don’t even know your name, Red.”

  My chest tightened a bit. I’d realized the same, but it made it kind of fun for me. “Don’t tell me your name, and I won’t tell you mine. I think once we do that, the magic of our conversation will fade. It will make it…real, and honestly, at this point in my life, I can’t do much real.”

  He arched an eyebrow but didn’t push for me to give my name. “Okay, I’ll call you Red.”

  “And you’re Captain for me. Cap, for short, obviously. I—”

  “Holy shit!” Captain barked, breaking his stare away from me, grabbing our drinks, and dashing off to the left of the room, leaving me standing there dazed and confused. As I followed his movements, the situation became more clear as he slid into a booth being vacated by two Tinker Bells and a Peter Pan. The way Captain claimed that spot made me smile. A certain amount of pride flooded his face as he puffed out his chest and patted the seat beside him.

  I walked over and slid into the booth, leaving a bit of space between us even though an odd part of me wanted to move in closer.

  “Based on us not learning each other’s names, I get the feeling I’m not going to get your number at the end of the night.”

  I shook my head. “Probably not, no.”

  “Okay. So that means whatever we say tonight is probably the last things we’ll ever say to one another.”

  “Yes.”

  “So…” He leaned in closer to me and swiped his thumb against his bottom lip as his eyes sparkled with intrigue. “What was the happiest thing that happened to you this year?”

  I laughed. “That’s a big question.”

  “I need to ask the big questions now, because I won’t get to ask them ever again. I think it’s important in life to ask the big questions when you do get a chance.”

  My stomach fluttered with nerves as I shifted a bit in my seat. He was asking me to be an open book to him for the evening, and most of the time, my thoughts were like a locked diary. Only I had the key, and I never shared it with anyone else. Honestly, no one seemed interested enough to read said thoughts.

  But still, I told him. I didn’t know if it was due to my buzz or the intrigue of him, but I opened up and shared.

  “I got an internship at my dream job. It’s a very underpaid and underappreciated internship, but I figured now that I have my foot in the door, I can maybe move my way up to be a junior editor at the magazine.”

  “A junior editor? So you’re a writer?”

  “A wannabe writer. I’m getting my degree in journalism and hope to someday get myself to a senior editor position.”

  “You will.”

  He said the two words with such certainty that I almost believed him.

  “I don’t know. It’s a very competitive industry, especially in New York.”

  “Do you love it? Writing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the competitive nature doesn’t matter. If you have a dream, fight for it.”

  “Other people are fighting for the same dream, too, though.”

  He leaned back against the seat and lay his arm across the top of it. “If you think about others trying to get your dream, you’re wasting your energy on the things that don’t matter. The only real estate in your mind should be you and your dream. Life is short. We don’t have the time to look at what other people are doing. That sidetracks us from our destiny.”

  I smiled. “You must have a dream of your own.”

  He glanced around the bar and shook his head. “Have you been on the rooftop of this building?”

  “No, never.”

  “It has one of the best views. I come here at least once a week just to breathe up there and clear my mind.” He stood, lifting his drink, and held his hand out toward me.

  I raised a brow. “You just bulldozed through the crowd to get this booth, and you’re telling me you’re willing to give it up to go stand on the roof?”

  “Sometimes you have to move when your soul tells you to move,” he replied.

  “Which philosopher said that?”

  He bit the corner of his bottom lip and shrugged. “I did.”

  Impressive.

  He held his hand out toward me again. “Come on. Do you trust me?”

  “When people ask ‘Do you trust me?’, it instantly makes me trust them a lot less.”

  “Good, as you should. I’m a complete damn stranger. Trust is earned, and I haven’t earned it. Still, I want to show you the rooftop.”

  I knew it was idiotic, but still, I wanted to go.

  I prayed the pepper spray in my bra wouldn’t have to be pulled out that night as I took his hand with mine. The moment our palms met, a wave of warmth shot through my system, as if holding his hand was the most natural thing I’d done in quite a while.

  He pulled me through the crowded space, and every now and again, I’d look down at our connected hands. After being broken up with, you missed the small things: laughing with your other half, cuddling, holding hands.

  It was funny how holding hands felt like such a small feat in the relationship, yet you missed it more than words when it was gone.

  We reached a door at the back of the bar, and my red flag alert went off as I dropped my hand from his. He opened the door and we looked up at a staircase that seemed to keep going for days.

  “After you,” he said, nodding toward the steps.

  “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “There’s no way in hell I’m going up that staircase with my back to you. If I’m honest, that idea gives me big serial killer vibes.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He smiled, and hell, I was an idiot because a part of me trusted that smile. I supposed that was how Ted Bundy had succeeded.

  What a twisted thought, Aaliyah. What was even more twisted was the fact that I knew I would go up that freaking staircase.

  “I’ll go first, and I’ll get a few steps ahead of you, so you feel safer,” he said. His eyes looked at me with concern. “If you’re comfortable with that. Otherwise, we can go back and try to track down a table.”

  Let me make one thing clear—I wasn’t a rebel. I didn’t break laws, I didn’t speak back to individuals who held authority, and I always offered my seat to the elderly on the subway. Yet for some reason, going up this staircase felt forbidden.

  “Are we allowed to go up there?” I asked, noticing that no one else was even eyeing the staircase that seemed a bit hidden.

  “Well, I am. You’ll just be my plus-one.”

  “Why are you allowed to go up there?”

  “I work with the man who owns this building.”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  He smirked and held his hands up. “Red, if you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to go up here. Or I can try to grab Tommy and have him reassure you.”

  “Who’s Tommy?”

  “The owner of the bar.”

  “You work with him?”

  “No. Tommy doesn’t own the building, but he works with the investor, who works with me.”

  I narrowed my eyes and softly chewed on the tip of my thumb—a nervous habit. His eyes followed my finger before meeting my gaze again.

  I cleared my throat. “How annoyed would you be if we asked Tommy?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I got beat up in front of the building earlier, and you offered me a drink and made me smile after the most humiliating moment of my life. I doubt you can do anything to annoy me tonight, Red. Come on.”

 
He held his hand back out to move me toward the office in the back of the bar, and I took his hand in mine once again.

  I didn’t even know I missed his touch until it was given back to me.

  We moved to the office, where a man sat behind his desk and was about to stand when he noticed us.

  His stare met Captain’s, and he began to speak. “Hey there—”

  “Don’t say my name!” Captain shouted, waving his hands in panic.

  Tommy cocked a confused eyebrow. “Okay…uh…what’s up, man? I gotta get back out there to help with the crowd.”

  “Yeah, of course. Just a quick question—can I go up to the rooftop?”

  Tommy chuckled. “Since when do you ask permission?”

  “I want to take a friend up there,” Captain said, gesturing toward me.

  “I swear to God, if you fuck Little Red Riding Hood on the top of this building, I’m going to murder you.”

  My cheeks blushed, but not as much as Captain’s, which turned a strong shade of red. “Dude, that’s not it. I want to show her the view.”

  “The view where you daydream like a little bitch,” Tommy joked, making Captain turn an even brighter color. My worry began to subside as I watched the two interact. “Go ahead and take her. That space is more yours than mine.” He looked at me. “My apologies if he nerds out up there. The guy’s a loser.”

  Captain laughed and patted Tommy on the back. “I love you, too, Tom.” Captain turned to me and gave me a questioning look as if waiting for my next move.

  I nodded and smiled. “Let’s go.”

  Walking up that spiral staircase was a workout for my heart. By the time we reached the top, which took a good while, I was breathing as if I’d run a marathon. Captain didn’t seem winded at all, which must’ve been due to his superpowers.

  “I should really do the StairMaster more at the gym,” I said as my breaths weaved in and out heavily.

  “That machine is a devil child,” he explained as he placed his hand on the doorknob that led to the rooftop. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He opened the door, and a gasp left my system as we stepped outside.

  “Oh my goodness,” I exclaimed as I breathed out, looking out into the night. We were up so high that I was shocked by how many steps we’d actually taken to make it to the top. You could see everything from the viewpoint we stood at. All of New York City was lit up with the night sky as the backdrop.

  It was breathtaking. Everything looked so stunning from up so high.

  “Wow,” I whispered.

  “Exactly,” Captain replied, taking my hand into his. Every time he did that, I liked his touch a little more.

  We moved to the edge of the rooftop and he pointed out at the busy city, eyes widened with passion.

  “This is it, this is what I want to do. While I’m in the real estate world, that’s not my biggest dream. My biggest dream is to create. I want to create, and I want to build. I want to buy buildings like that one right there and flip them into luxury condominiums for the lower class. Just think, Red. How crazy would it be to create something of luxury for people who are so far overlooked?”

  “That’s an amazing idea, but wouldn’t that cost a lot of money?”

  “Yes.” He clapped his hands together and was smiling bigger than he had all night. “That’s why I’m on a mission to make a shit ton of money. I don’t care if I lose some if I have a crap ton. I want to give back to people who grow up without a lot. Then on top of the buildings, we can have greenhouses so the community has their own gardens to pick from throughout the summer and fall seasons. Community gardens could change and save so many lives. It would be great. The facilities could have activities for kids whose parents are working two or three jobs, to keep them out of trouble. Plus, the units could have deep soaking tubs for the single parents who need a few moments of solitude to themselves.” He stared out at the city lights and placed his hands against the back of his head. “I want this so bad. I just want to help people.”

  His passion sat right there behind his eyes. Every word he was delivering my way was coming straight from the depths of his soul. When he spoke about his dream, I could feel it increasing my heartbeats.

  It made me think I wasn’t thinking big enough for my own goals in life.

  “I think that’s a beautiful dream,” I commented, standing next to him. I didn’t think he noticed, but I’d inched closer to him because I liked the warmth he gave off.

  “It’s going to happen,” he said, nodding in pure bliss. “And it’s going to be beautiful.”

  “What made you have this dream?”

  He looked my way and then took a seat on the pebbled ground. I sat right beside him. He bent his knees and wrapped his arms around them. “I grew up poor. My mom was a single parent, and we had pretty much nothing to our name. It got even worse when she learned of her cancer.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, nudging my knee slightly with his. “She’s okay. She’s been in remission for years, thank God. But, growing up struggling without much comfort in our home, in our lives, made me passionate about this. At a young age, I learned how to hustle, how to move in a way that enabled me to get what I needed for myself and my mom. But I understand I was luckier than most. I lived in a small town where people helped each other, and I think a lot of people felt bad for me, so they gave to my random entrepreneurial endeavors. Where I grew up, people took care of each other.”

  “So the complete opposite of New York City.”

  He laughed. “The complete opposite.”

  “I think that’s noble. I grew up on these streets without a lot, so I know how hard it can be to struggle to keep stable physically and mentally. I couldn’t imagine doing it with a kid.”

  “A lot of times, I don’t know how my mom did it, honestly. Superhero, I guess.”

  “Must run in the family. I can’t help but wonder what Captain America’s mother would be like,” I said, wrapping my arms around my legs.

  “I would say she’s like Wonder Woman, but since I just got my ass handed to me by said woman, I’m not much of a fan anymore.”

  I smiled. “You’re close to your mom.”

  “Not to sound like a punk, but she’s my best friend.”

  That made my heart grin. A mama’s boy. “And your dad?”

  His energy shifted to a more somber tone. He shook his head. “Deadbeat. Ran off after cheating on my mom when I was a kid.”

  “Have you ever tried to find him?”

  “No. I figured if he was a real man, he would try to find me. I spent eighteen years of my life sitting in the same place. He knew where I was and still didn’t come.” He began fidgeting with his fingers, seemingly a nervous habit or something he did when uncomfortable.

  I kind of liked that about him—how I’d seen so many of his different layers within such a short period. I’d seen him happy, I’d seen him passionate, and I’d seen him somber. Somehow that made him more human than the superhero persona he was putting on that evening.

  “What about you? How’s your relationship with your parents?”

  I’d known the question was coming, but I still wasn’t fully prepared for it. I’d been around for twenty-two years, and I still was never ready for when people asked me about my family. It wasn’t due to my discomfort with the subject. Long ago, I’d come to terms with what had happened to me and how I grew up. What bothered me the most, though, when I told others was the pitying looks they’d give me. It always seemed as if they were filled with guilt, as if they were the reason I didn’t have a family.

  “I grew up in the foster care system. I never knew my parents.”

  “Oh.” He paused for a moment and looked down at his hands. When he looked back up at me, he didn’t radiate that pity I was so used to seeing in others’ eyes after said discovery. Instead, he asked, “How did that affect you?”

  I was so taken aback by his comment. No
one had ever asked me that before after finding out I grew up in the foster system. Most people gave me the cliché apologies then told me I deserved the biggest kind of love. They’d mention that we create our own families in life, and the beginning doesn’t equate with the ending. All good and fair responses. They never bothered me any.

  Captain’s words hit me a bit differently. It felt like a heavy question, but at the same time a very honest one. I wasn’t certain if I liked it or not.

  “The truth or the nice lie?” I asked.

  He looked out toward the city lights before turning back to me. “The truth. Always the truth.”

  “It gave me trust issues, sprinkled with a dash of codependency. I hate to admit it, but I think I dream of love more than most people. Not even a romantic kind of love, but any kind of love. Love from my friends, love and admiration from my professors, from my boss. I want people to like me…to love me. Because somewhere in my head, I connected the idea that the number of people who love you is what makes you a worthy person.”

  “You’re a people-pleaser.”

  “To the extreme. In my freshman year of college, I failed my first history test, and I cried the whole weekend. The following Monday, I took the professor blueberry muffins during his office hours, because he’d mentioned once that they were his favorite. I apologized for failing, and I’ll never forget what he said to me. He looked at me and said that failing the exam was in no way an indication of me being a failure. I still struggle with that, the idea that one life failure doesn’t make me a failure.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, Red.”

  “How can you tell? You just met me about an hour ago.”

  “I think you can know a person based on the first few minutes you meet them if you look closely enough.”

  “Is that what you do? You read people?”

  “Yeah. It comes in handy for the industry I’m in. I have to get a quick grip on who my clients are when it comes to real estate, so I know which persona I should present to them.”

  “You put on a different mask with everyone? That sounds exhausting.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. Everyone wears different masks on a regular basis. Some people simply aren’t aware of it. Also, I like to think of the masks as different versions of the same person. Humans are complex, complicated. We are so much more than just one mask.”