No Place Like Somewhere Else

by Caesar J. M. Kauftheil

  She walked past him, and she felt his eyes travel up her body—though at five-foot-nothing, there wasn't much traveling to be done. She found a seat on the opposite side of the aisle which faced his, and sat down between a hipster with an "ironic mustache" (whatever the hell that means) staring down at his smartphone and a guy who sat so primly and with such a delicate look on his face that Josie knew he was much more woman than she'd ever be. Hazarding a look back to Jesus, they caught each other in the glance and both looked away. Josie let out a long breath and pretended to distract herself with her phone.

  He was looking toward the front of the bus, leaning back into his chair, arms crossed, with a black backpack between his feet. Except for his dark blue jeans, everything was black: his shoes, his unbuttoned jacket, which looked like it had been nice at one point but seemed to now be growing tattered, and the button-up shirt underneath. She checked out his face through her peripheral vision, afraid to make awkward eye contact again, and noticed he had an eyebrow piercing. It occurred to her at this point that she had been staring at him for several minutes, and her concentration was broken as the bus lurched to a halt beside the sidewalk.

  The chairs were filled and new passengers were forced to stand, holding onto straps and poles, when an elderly lady tottered onto the bus, scanning the aisle with the feeble and helpless look worn by older women who have spent lifetimes standing and must, in their old age, compensate for all the times they would have rather spent sitting. Josie glanced around, and when no one offered up their seat, she stood up and silently presented hers to the geriatric. She got a touch on the arm from some very bony fingers, which she would have preferred to have avoided, and a croaky "Thank you," as the women carefully lowered her fragile body. Josie, you are such a good person, Josie complimented herself as she wandered to another part of the bus to avoid the musky old lady smell that the septuagenarian oozed. Grabbing a strap across the aisle, she realized she had unconsciously chosen one right in front of the long-haired stranger.

  He's going to think I'm a fucking creep, Josie thought of the man for whom she had gotten on a bus that went completely out of her way, and had spent most of the trip ogling. She watched the city passing through the window as an excuse not to look down to where the stranger was sitting. From the lower peripheral of her vision, she could tell he was facing her, looking straightforward at her eye-level chest. They're just tits, bub, Josie thought, though for some reason, the fact that he was ogling her bosom made her feel sexy. It had been a while since she had felt that way…

  She fumbled with thought, feeling clumsy in the awkwardness of the situation. It was too late at this point to have any grace in starting a conversation—and what would she say, anyway?

  "Hey, aren't you the guy I almost ran into last night?"

  "Yeah. Where are you headed?"

  "I don't know. I just followed you onto this bus."

  "Weirdo. Leave me alone, you stalker creep. Also, I hate your shoes." And then everyone on the bus would laugh at her.

  She gave a soft sigh; that's exactly how it would go. She wished he would start the conversation. It seemed as though he recognized her from their run-in the night before, but either he was shy or just didn't want to talk to her. He seemed like the quiet, mysterious type. She'd been with Marjorie and out-of-practice too long; she'd lost whatever skill she'd once had in the art of flirtation… Not that she was one to cheat, but what was the harm in flirting?

  Nerves got the better of her, and she decided she would get off at the next stop. She was getting tired, and her mind was going funny places. She leaned back, one arm stretched up to hold the loop and her legs angled away from her. She looked down at her shoes, which were both pointed toward the stranger. She almost lost her balance when the bus heaved to a stop, and without thinking, she looked him in the eyes and said, "Bye."

  Horrified with herself, she hurried for the door before he could respond. She hit the sidewalk, and speed-walking quickly turned into a half-jog, as if she could run away from the mortification.

  *~*~*

  When Josie woke up, Marjorie was gone, so she lingered in bed, replaying the morning in her head. She got up and opened the blinds, letting the dusky sunlight filter in through the window. She thought about what Kitty had said earlier: her joke about lucky shoes… It wasn't even a real superstition—though that phrase itself was a bit of an oxymoron—but her brain wouldn't let it go. The shoes seemed to have a mind of their own… she couldn't explain it.

  She got up and stretched. She pulled off the t-shirt that she had fallen asleep in, leaving her bare, except for her bra and panties. As she walked to the basket where she had piled her clean clothes—Marjorie had long since stopped folding her clothes for her—Josie stopped to examine herself in the full length mirror. She had never had the figure for a skinny body, but she had to admit that she was getting a little pudgier. She probed one of her love handles with a finger and stuck her tongue out at herself. Short and a little bit thick… so what? She was compact.

  She dug out a feminine shirt with a low neckline that showcased her cleavage, found a pair of frayed jeans, and got dressed. Walking out into the main room, she looked at her new pair of Jaguars lying where she had left them by the door. Magic shoes, she thought, staring at the inauspicious pair of sneakers, positioned as if they were about the walk out of the apartment on their own. She picked them up and examined them inside and out: nothing to suggest that they were anything but ordinary. No brain intent on getting her into awkward situations, at the very least.

  "Don't be absurd, Josie," she said to herself in a shoe-voice while flapping one of the sneakers' tongue.

  She carried them into the bedroom and opened the folding screen of the closet. She knew what she was feeling was lunacy, but she couldn't shake the notion that there was something… off about the sneakers. She didn't even know who to talk to about that. A medium? A paranormal investigator? A psychiatrist? Definitely not Marjorie. She stashed them away and closed the door before immediately remembering that she had thrown out her only other pair of shoes.

  She took them out back out, carrying them by the laces into the other room. The sound of the rubber soles knocking against one other sounded like a plea to be taken out for a walk. For what? she silently asked. It was going to be dark soon, and she hated being out alone in the city. You know, the shoes knocked in response. She dropped them by the door, sat on the couch, and began flipping through channels. The shoes looked longingly at her.

  "Fine," she said, as if talking to a dog that wanted to go out. "But only because I'm already dressed and there's nothing good on TV."

  *~*~*

  She almost hated to admit how right the shoes felt on her feet, the energy they gave her, and the strange sense of purpose she felt while they were on her feet. It was like the thrill of running away when she was ten, but different. More like the thrill of running to. On a whim, she decided to name them.

  Standing still, she wiggled her toes in the right shoe. Alex.

  She tapped her left foot against the ground. Dorrie.

  "All right, guys, which way?" she asked, half-expecting her legs to lift without any effort on her part. She waited: nothing. She tried walking a few steps in any direction. None felt more right than the others. They're just shoes, she reminded herself.

  Always one to follow the path of least resistance, she started downhill, the momentum inciting her to a jog. When she came to an intersection, she decided to follow whichever direction was clear first. For half an hour, she walked and jogged, expecting to see the stranger appear out of nowhere. An hour later, darkness was beginning to take over the sky, she was several miles from home, and she was getting tired, still with no luck. She also realized she was in a part of the city she wasn't familiar with, and she had taken so many uncalculated turns, she wasn't sure how to find her way back home. Stupid fucking shoes.

  She began trudging in what she felt was the right direction. Most of her journey had been downhill, an
d unless she found a bus, it was going to be hell getting back home. Checking her pockets, she realized she had forgotten her Muni pass, and she sure as hell didn't want to pay a taxi fee. Stupid. Fucking. Shoes. At least it was her night off work…

  After another half an hour, she felt as lost as before, wandering foreign streets. Stupid city. It had been Marjorie's idea to move here two years ago… Josie had been happy with their rented room in the suburbs. Princess Marjorie, however, deemed that there wasn't enough space for two people in a room that could hardly fit a twin-sized bed, not to mention their belongings. She wouldn't even entertain Josie's idea about bunk beds.

  The energy that the shoes had imbued her with was drained, and she was starting to feel the ache in her calves. The night air, at least, was cool against her face, but she'd neglected to bring a jacket, and she would be freezing in an hour or two. Marjorie was probably home by now, but Josie was loath to call and receive a lecture about planning ahead.

  A small anxiety settled in her stomach, and it began growing as she walked until it expanded into a heavy paranoia. A sense of hurry overtook her legs, strange feelings pushing her forward, a preternatural instinct of being followed. She knew the fear was more than likely irrational, but it was unshakeable, and despite her mild fatigue, she broke into a jog. She listened between the slaps of her feet against pavement for a second pair to echo, but heard nothing, unwilling to glance back. Because that's when they getcha, Josie thought, reflecting on a movie she had seen a few months prior about space demons.

  She mustered the conviction to look behind her as she ran, and found… an empty street. Returning her gaze forward, she saw black for a brief moment before slamming bodily into something that tottered back a few steps as she fell on her ass. Disoriented, she sat for a moment to catch her breath and steady her nerves, and finally she looked up to find a hand offered to help her up. "Now I'm convinced that you're stalking me."

  "Jesus," Josie said, taking the hand, which was surprisingly soft, and got to her feet. "I mean, no! I have not been stalking you. Seriously, I'm not a weirdo."

  "Relax, I'm kidding. We do seem to… run into each other a lot, though," the stranger said, and when their eyes met, neither stare wavered. Josie even forgave his pun.

  "Would you believe me if I told you that I have a pair of magic shoes?" Josie asked.

  "Absolutely. That makes perfect sense. You don't sound like a nutcase at all." The sarcasm threw Josie off guard at first, but she quickly adjusted.

  "Okay, then, I won't tell you," Josie said, crossing her arms and looking up with a grin.

  "I'd entertain the conversation, though, if you want to grab some coffee." Josie didn't even think before she nodded. "I'm Jay, by the way. Figured I might as well introduce myself, as you're still holding my hand," he said, and Josie's face flushed as she looked down.

  "Josie," she told him, finally letting go. "Lead the way."

  *~*~*

  They sat down at a café that Jay knew in the area, and while he grabbed a table and waited on their order, Josie went to the bathroom to freshen up. Haven't taken a hobo shower in a while, she thought, pulling off her shirt and using moist paper towels to wipe the sweat off her body and wash her face in the sink. She looked at her face in the mirror: round, normally pale but now a bit red. She almost never wore make up, but she wished she at least had some eyeliner to put on.

  She put her shirt back on, pushed the neckline down to show some extra cleavage, and found the table where Jay was sitting with two steaming cups.

  "So," he said, mockery in his voice. "Tell me about these magic shoes of yours." And so she did; she explained finding them outside of the Chinese restaurant, the way they made her feel, Kitty's superstition. She found herself talking more than usual, partially out of nervousness, but also because Jay didn't interrupt.

  "So," Jay sighed finally. "If these shoes lead you to happiness, does that make me 'happiness'?"

  Josie felt her cheeks flush and looked away. "I didn't say that. I've just… happened to end up seeing you whenever I wear these shoes. Maybe you just happen to be all the places I go."

  "You've wound up in a lot of places in the span of two days," Jay said in a steady voice before sipping from his coffee.

  "Well, that first time was after I found them, the second one was…"—she decided to leave out the part where she had followed him onto the bus—"on my way home from work, and tonight was just… kind of a fluke. I went for a run, and got lost. Do you know where we are, by the way?"

  "San Francisco," Jay responded, taking a sip of his coffee. She gave him a heavy-lidded stare.

  "More specifically."

  "A coffee shop," Jay responded impassively.

  "Okay, a little more general."

  "Here, in this moment, in the now." Josie rolled her eyes.

  "You're impossible. And to think I thought you were cute…"

  "Cute, huh? We're in the west end of Potrero Hill, by the way."

  "Fuck, walking back to Noe Valley is going to be hell." She sneered to herself. "So, is that what it takes to get information out of you? I have to stroke your ego?"

  "It doesn't hurt," Jay said with a shrug. "And you should at least take a load off for a while. Give your magic shoes a rest. How did you end up on this neck of the woods, anyway?"

  "It doesn't matter," Josie said, intentionally looking away toward the wall where there was a series of paintings that looked like the artist had grabbed a paintbrush and held it against the canvas during an epileptic fit. "Huh, just look at the art in here."

  "Yeah, it's great. How did you end up lost out here?" Jay said, squashing her attempt to deflect the conversation.

  "You're not going to let that go, are you?"

  "What were you running after?"

  "What makes you think I wasn't running away from something?"

  "Do you run away a lot?" His gaze intensified and the puckish tone in his voice softened.

  "As a kid, yeah," Josie said, almost laughing, but it came out as a hum. "Almost every month. My parents stopped looking for me at a point. I always went home eventually. The last time I ran away was when I went to college. Never went back."

  "Not a great home life?" Jay asked. Josie scrunched her face and shrugged. "So, what did you major in?

  "I didn't. When they said I needed to choose, I dropped out. Would've stuck around if I could'a gotten a degree in 'undecided.'"

  "What happened then?"

  "I moved in with this chick I was seeing. It was alright. We were engaged for a bit."

  "And you ran away from that, too, I'm guessing."

  "Yeah. Then I got with Marjie. She convinced me to move to this awful fucking city."

  "What's wrong with San Francisco?"

  "It's a city," Josie said with a sneer. "And it's always cold, and I don't know anyone here, and I don't have a car, so it's not like I can head back to the valley to see my friends."

  "The valley, huh?"

  "Yeah, I'm from Turlock."

  "Oh, the Central Valley."

  "What's with that look?"

  "Nothing," Jay said.

  "What's wrong with the Central Valley?"

  "Nothing. I mean, a lot, but nothing. So, what happened with this Marjie chick?"

  "What else?" Josie sighed and sunk into her chair. "Things fell apart. I don't want to have a fucking discussion about my emotions all the time."

  Jay smiled, the spritely shimmer returning to his eyes. "It's like a game of tag, and commitment is 'it.' "

  "So, you think I'm a noncommittal bitch as well," Josie said, cocking her head and raising her eyebrows, but smiling.

  Jay shrugged. "Dogs run away. Doesn't mean they're not loyal."

  "Are you calling me a dog?" Josie asked, putting her hands on her hips in mimicry of Marjorie.

  "I like dogs. It's a compliment."

  "You'd better be careful, or I'll kick your ass with my magic shoes," she said, giving his foot a light kick under the table. He captured h
er foot between his own, and held it captive.

  "I get the feeling your bark is worse than your bite."

  "Are you always this much of an ass to people you hardly know?" He released her foot.

  "Only when I'm talking to such a fetching lady."

  "Thanks," Josie said, looking demurely aside. "Wait, was that another dog joke? For fuck's sake, this is why I gave up on men."

  "So you're not a complete lesbian after all. Here I was, worried that I was barking up the wrong tree."

  "You're the dog now, huh? And yeah, I'm bi."

  "Bi? As in, 'buy you a drink?'"

  "Down, boy."

  "Really, let's take a walk and I'll buy you a drink," Jay said. Josie gave him an uncertain glare, trying to disentangle the puns from sincerity. "Honestly, I know this bar two blocks away from here, and I'd like to buy you a drink."

  "Are you going to beg?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

  "I'm not asking you to lie down."

  "All right, I'll throw this horndog a bone and take a walk with you. If you pull out a leash, though, I'm out of here."

  *~*~*

  Jay led Josie to a bar called the Blue Brook, the outside of which had no more adornment than a sign which read, simply: Cocktails. She immediately picked up the various clues that it was a dive bar: the neon beer advertisements, the collection of bumper stickers with bar-related witticisms plastered behind the counter, the hodgepodge of different people who all seemed to fit into the bar, their differences fading into homogeny in the dim light. Jay nodded to a few of them as they walked in, and she followed him to a pair of stools at the bar.

  The bartender, a slender, middle-aged blonde with sharp, attractive features greeted Jay and gave Josie a nod as she placed a couple of cocktail napkins in front of them. "What'll it be?"

  "Usual, and whatever she wants," Jay said, spinning his napkin on the countertop. The bartender looked to Josie, and her heavy brown eyes and pointed nose gave Josie the impression of staring into the face of an eagle.