Running from Dawn Chap. 2

2

         Oswald was his name. She had seen it on the driver’s license earlier in the evening as he passed it over the bar in return for a tall Long Island. His retrieval of the identification was unsolicited, but as a courtesy, the bartender dutifully verified the date. Their introduction was short: a simple handshake, exchange of names. Stella remembered him mentioning a nickname, which was more appealing than Oswald, but she didn’t recall what it was. Hadn’t cared enough to listen. They had been sitting in a less intimate atmosphere at the time, one riddled with co-workers, clinking glasses, and a faint guitar rift that barely rose above the work complaints clouding the air.
         
         She had met him through her best friend, a beautiful beast that towered over her in both height and measurable successes. Talia had been the one to see Stella off the plane nearly a week earlier, only a few hours after receiving the tear-streaked phone call. After gathering enough to understand that Stella’s infidelity had been found out, Talia took charge of the conversation. She could imagine Stella’s torment and saw no reason for her to struggle with the words. She didn’t need to see Stella to visualize swollen eyes, to know that the love affair had brought no more happiness than her marriage. She didn’t need to hear her say that there was no love in it, that she had only been chasing self-acceptance, and that this man’s warm compliments provided the backboard. She didn’t need to hear the story to picture Stella, trash bags full of personal effects, descending the sixteen flights of stairs to daylight, defeated. She didn’t need to hear another word. “Of course I’ll be there to pick you up.”
         
         There beside her Talia was like garden fare to a dieting soul. She was light, crispy, and satisfying. She understood the insatiable thirst for approval, had fallen victim to it herself, and didn’t need Stella to use up their last hours explaining it. Instead she encouraged the humorous highlights of the debacle. For the first three drinks, Stella was able to deliver. Her failing marriage and regretful affair was girl talk, easy words rolling off her tongue. She described ridiculous scenarios, interjected with one-liners, and the two of them folded over in laughter. But then drinks four and five arrived and her tone became more serious, and to the dismay of her audience, tales of a lonely marriage stole the show. It was drink six that revealed the massive, underlying wound. The truth was that Stella had been living in isolation, her days spent trapped between four uncaring walls. In the absence of complaints, her family could only assume that she was happy. Even Talia, knowing that something wasn’t right, had patiently waited for Stella to initiate dialogue. Meanwhile, as the phone grew cold from neglect, the television took on role of husband, and the occasional drink became her secret lover. That is, only until human flesh finally replaced it.          
         
         Oswald, like a side salad, sat unnoticed. He appeared unscathed by the clash of the women’s words, like he had heard it all before. Poker-faced, he listened as she told of marital blues, and then, in the safety of friendship and a blissful high, declared that she was not going to board that 6:15 flight. With round body balanced on crossed legs, he stared into a distant corner. Tapped his toe like it was driven by song.
         
         Drink seven, surely delivered by the devil, changed the evening’s course of events. A fellow drinker had stolen Talia’s attention, dangling in front of her his inability to string together two coherent words. Freed from the constraints of conversation, Stella turned her attention toward Oswald.
         
         With a tap on his hand, she plugged him in. “So you’re very quiet,” she laughed, surveying the increasing crowd in search of a more interesting partaker.
         
         “Well, no man in his right mind is going to brave a conversation like that,” he said, “At least not unarmed. Plus,” he added in a more jovial tone, “I’m more of a party guy. I prefer to keep it easy.”
         
         She wasn’t sure if he had just insulted her, insinuating that she preferred drama, but she decided to let it pass in the spirit of the exchange. “A party guy, huh? That sounds promising.” She disguised her sarcasm with a smile.
         
         “Yup,” he hiccupped into a closed hand. “And from what I hear, you two,” pointing a drunk finger in the wrong direction, “used to do some partying yourselves.”
         
         She could pick out a drug reference made in a whispering crowd of nuns, and she knew that his reference to “partying” wasn’t about dancing. “Oh…It’s been a long time,” she replied, confirming the rumors. “Years, in fact.” She pulled out a cigarette and twirled it like a miniature baton, considering the prospect.
         
         “Well then, I don’t even know if I’m allowed to tell you this… Talia warned me that I was to leave you alone,” he leaned and glanced in Talia’s direction, adjusting the volume of his voice, “but I’ve got a little something back at my place, if you’re interested. I’m not pressuring you, but since you’re not going home tomorrow…just thought I’d extend a warm invite.” He winked.          
         
         She wasn’t sure of exactly what kind of goodies he may have had, or what that wink was suggesting, but neither part of the proposal was tempting. Life was feeling pretty cozy perched upon the barstool, and she had no plans of abandoning post. “Thanks, but I can’t. It’s been too long,” She said, watching Talia trying to decipher meaning from the dribble that assaulted her left ear.
         
         Then Talia turned her back on her bar mate and looked at Stella, bad news materializing on her brow. “Hey, Stell,” She patted the back of Stella’s hand. “I am so sorry, but I’m beat. Any chance you feel like crashing? It’s almost 11:30.” She was already taking out her wallet and signaling for the check. “Please, don’t hurry,” she said, pointing to Stella’s glass, “but I’m gonna pay now so we can head out as soon as you’re done.”
         
         Stella looked at Oswald then back at the wet mess that had collected around her elbows. It was the happy remains of too many drinks. “Actually, I’m really not tired, but Oswald,” she drew out his full name, hoping its use wouldn’t give her away, “just invited me over for drinks anyway.” She took her last swig. 
         
         “Cool,” said Oswald, reaching around Stella and patting Talia’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, lady, I’ll take care of her.”
         
         Almost an hour later, they entered his apartment, and now at 4:21, she was kicking herself for the decision.