~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Layla
Woke up, got up, near eleven o'clock
Butt naked except, I was wearing my socks
And that's cool, 'cause most the time this floor is cold
Stand up and stretch look around this mess
My place has been a cage since she left me
Make my way to the kitchen, start the coffee
Then dip to the bathroom, begin the triple-s
And wash the previous evening off me
Now out the shower, get dry, shove a q-tip in my ear
Well, what do we have here?
It appears as if a piece of me has got motivation
Ain't nothin' wrong with a little morning mas--
"Damn alarm."
I laugh. That really is some sense of humor. My place has been a cage since she left me? I couldn’t describe it better. I’ve even lost track of how many weeks – has it been months now? – I’ve lived like this.
I look around the room. It truly is littered with things, memories, I don’t need. Next to the dresser is some baseball equipment and a set of weights I bought myself in high school. Nothing really came of that. Some magazines scattered on the floor. Vaseline. The stereotypical lovesick young man, wallowing in his own despair as he heats up microwaveable dinners night after night. A bit cliché, I suppose. I guess it’s about time to get out of bed.
The draft from the window runs over my back. I shudder. I stumble around to find a shirt and a pair of jeans off the ground and throw them on. I walk to the counter, avoiding that plate of reheated lasagna on the floor. Eggs… where are the eggs? I fumble for the pan. Fuck it. I grab the box of cheerios lying on its side and pour some out into my hand.
Spark up that caffeine and nicotine binge, and that's pretty much the pattern of how my day begins.
"I heard the new guy's gonna move in today."
"Really? Room 204? Next to him?"
That was Edith and Dorothy. Edith lives four doors down. Dorothy is somewhere on the third floor; I never really bothered to keep track. She always arrives the same time every day, stopping in the hallway in front of Edith’s room on her way down to lunch. They are the kind of women who, already beyond the point where their own lives are of any interest, busy themselves with the problems of others around them.
“Yeah, I feel bad for the guy. Even being on the same floor seems unpleasant. I can’t believe someone like him moved in here."
“It’ll probably be alright. He hasn’t come out of his room much lately.”
They laugh.
I hear footsteps down the hallway, and the women’s voices drop to a whisper. Then a sharp knock on my door.
“Hey, I’m gonna be moving in tomorrow, so I thought I’d drop by today and say hi.”
A warm draft blows in as I open the door. He looks about in his mid twenties, and I could tell right away he was the eternally optimistic type. I don’t think anything could wipe that disgusting smile off of his face. He was the kind of person to hate on sight. He must be studying at the university around here and needed to find a place to stay. At least this means he won’t live here for very long.
“Yeah, I heard from the two down the hall. So? What do you want?”
“Just to introduce myself, you know? I’m Jay.”
“That it?”
“Yeah, I guess. Umm, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Whatever. I'm going to work.”
I don’t enjoy working. Then again, the ones who do are almost always delusional. It’s just another part of my unchanging daily routine. Walk down the stairs because the landlord never bothered to fix the elevator, wait at the bus stop, put on my headphones, avoid eye contact with the other waiting passengers. Against my better judgment, I find myself scanning the seats ahead of me. An old vintage purse in the corner catches my attention. Is it hers? Shifting my gaze up, I see an old hag staring back at me, furrowing her brow and pulling her handbag closer to her. I quickly turn back to the window.
I can almost hear her husky voice calling out to me – it was almost musical, like a jazz singer’s – from behind a display of coffee beans. It still doesn’t feel like it, but I think it’s been more than a year now.
I knew she was different the moment I met her.
One morning she just appeared out of nowhere at an empty table; nonchalantly examining the tips of her fingernails, the slightly curled ends of her light brown hair resting lightly on her shoulders and carrying that bag that suited her so well. To be honest, anything would look good on her. I don’t remember what I said to her that day, but she laughed. It was a slow day, so I slipped out from behind the counter and sat down with her. Oh, she said she was dating someone, but he was kind of a jerk, and she was bored. She didn’t deserve that. She had never bothered to stop by Muddy’s before, and decided to see if it was any good. We talked for at least an hour, until another customer began shouting at the counter.
Something about wasting time having a pleasant conversation with a nobody.
A bell rings and I step off the bus. The shop stands on a relatively busy street corner, it was just like any other small coffee house really. I suppose people found it relaxing to satisfy their cravings in a quiet place for four dollars a cup. I walk into the back room to change into the work uniform. White shirt. Hat. Nametag. Plastic smile. “Hello sir, how may I help you today?” I search for her face among the people in line.
Layla? She waves from a dark table in the corner. Is it at me? No, it couldn't be. After all, she would never return to this shop, and she used to always take the seat up front.
I used to walk by her place all the time. She lived in a run-down old apartment; the lock didn’t even work, and it was so dirty that it didn’t even look like anyone lived there. I had always assumed – I never actually met him – that her boyfriend was one of those violent alcoholics. I imagined that he would arrive home late at night, drunk, still waving an empty bottle around like an idiot as she pretends to be asleep. I was going to support her, and maybe, eventually, I could help her get out of that relationship. Not that it really matters now anyway.
It was only briefly mentioned on the evening news; a man and his girlfriend driving on the highway broke through the guard rail and fell into the ocean late at night. It was assumed that the man was drinking, but the car and the bodies were never found.
She stopped coming to get coffee. Had she really been the one in that crash? I couldn’t bring myself to believe it, even though there was no other explanation. It was, after all, hard to not be dead after flying off of a bridge.
Even so, I had visited her apartment every day after work. It was always empty, though sometimes I thought I could hear her soothing voice on the other side, laughing, like when we first met. Sometimes I still hear the muffled tap of her boots as she walks into the store.
“Whoa! Fancy seeing you here again.”
What luck. Jay had finished his tour of the apartment complex and somehow made it – the asshole may have even followed me – to the coffee shop. I sneak another quick glance at the corner before pretending to be busy with the register, rearranging the coins in the trays.
“Oh, that's my girlfriend over there.”
“Wait. Yours?”
He looks at me with that same expression from this morning, that ridiculous grin still plastered on his face. What did this mean? Was he really the one I had heard about back then, had he found out about me after she left that note?
“Yup! Oh, can you get me a large latte?”
I walk over to the bar and hand him his cup. She waves toward me – him? – with a smile on her face, a He wanders back over to the table in the corner, occasionally peeking over the shoulders of college students working on their laptops and annoying them about their work. They sit for the next ten minutes while he sips his coffee. They talk in hushed tones, with him occasionally gesturing excitedly and pointing at me.
At five my shift ends and I walk toward the bus stop. There she is again, her long dark hair floating slightly in the wind. She shivers and attempts to pull her skirt lower to cover her knees.
“Hey! How's it been? Chilly today, isn’t it.”
“What do you want? Get away from me.”
“I—“
Her voice echoes shrilly down the dark street. She turns her back to me and stares impatiently at her watch. An odd reaction, though it was getting dark, and maybe I had made a mistake. The bus arrives. I climb up the steps and walk down the aisle, taking an empty seat next to the window. She was still standing next to the sign, looking in the opposite direction to get a glimpse around the corner. I hadn’t noticed before, but she seemed to be carrying a different handbag now, a relatively plain brown Coach that rested on her shoulder.
I unlock the door and make my way in the dark to the mattress on the ground.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
Jay is out greeting everyone in the hallway, as usual. Two weeks in this apartment and he still politely says, “Good morning!” to everyone like he’s meeting them for the first time. As the days wear on, he grows steadily more irritating; “Oh, I have some tickets to the new movie, wanna come with?”, or “Hey, you should go out to lunch with us.” I put up with it only because he usually brings Layla along with him when he comes by to annoy me. Judging by his attitude, it seems like he considers me one of his friends, and has no idea that Layla and I know each other.
Today, his plans are for us to wander aimlessly around the park. Apparently he wanted to enjoy the warm days while they lasted. What warm days? The sun was out but covered by the tall firs, the wind was blowing, and the trees around us would not stop their ceaseless rustling. The worst possible kind of weather.
“Did I tell you? We’re going to get married soon!”
“Oh. Congratulations. I guess.”
“ Yeah! We found this great place near the mountains, you know, north of here. It’s pretty secluded, but it’s beautiful. Trees everywhere, there’s even a river running behind the cabin we rented. It’s perfect! I’d love it if you could come. It’s in two weeks, so make sure to mark it on your calendar.”
“No, I don’t think I will. I’m busy that day.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I glanced at Layla. She was ignoring me as usual, and clung to his arm as we walked down the trail. I’ve tried before to elicit a response, a casual mention of our conversations at the coffee shop, how we first met. “Have you tried my frappes yet? This girl always told me it was her favorite.”
The rest of the day passes by rather uneventfully. Jay continues walking and commenting on every small squirrel or bird that appeared in front of him, with Layla by his side and me following silently behind him. I make an excuse – I forgot that I was switched to an evening shift for the day – and quickly double back to crawl in between my cold sheets.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
On the weekends, Layla would visit his apartment while he was taking his classes in the afternoon, bringing with her some food from a local restaurant for him to heat up when he got home. On these days, I would find myself walking over, getting out of bed in spite of myself and knocking on his door.
I wait in my room until three, when I hear her light footsteps as she comes up the stairs, pressing my head against my door to look through the peephole. I watch her graceful figure as she glides past my door, her long legs accentuated by the stiletto heels she wears every day. It was the same thing every time. I wait about ten minutes, and then follow her over to his room. She then opens the door and goes back to watching TV as I sit down on the couch opposite of her.
“So, what made you decide to marry him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you just didn’t seem like you were the type to be interested in him before, you know? I remember whe—“
“What are you talking about? Look, if you’re going to wait for Jay, then just sit there. He’ll be back in an hour.”
“No, look, I just want to know what made you change your mind.”
“You look. It’s none of your business.”
Even I don’t know what I intend to do when I walk inside. It must seem like there’s something wrong with me. I ask the same questions every week, and by now I know that this is the only reply I will ever get. What keeps me coming back?
An awkward silence always follows my attempt at a conversation. She turns her attention back to the show as I examine the patterns in the wood flooring.
Eventually, I give up and retreat back to my room. I throw myself onto the bed. What were our conversations back then? They hadn’t been like that, she was always more talkative. Something happened to her after she left. The last rays of the sun disappear from my window as I lie wrapped in my covers.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
Jay and Layla left early in the morning today. I heard his excited voice in the hallway as he announced it to everyone on our floor at seven, and the loud congratulations and well wishes that followed him as he walked. He stopped and called out to me in front of my door.
“Hey, you sure you don’t want to come to the wedding?”
There was no reason to get up then. There’s still no reason to get up now. I pull the sheets back over my shoulders and fall back down on my back.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
“Did you hear about the girl? The one who was found dead last night?”
“Oh yeah, scary isn’t it? I saw her picture in the news, she was so pretty too!”
“Yeah Edith, you need to be careful at night now, I wouldn’t want you to become a victim too! I would miss having someone to talk to at lunch.”
It was all over the papers, large print on the front pages. One even made it under the crack in my door. “Local Woman, 20, Found Drowned Outside City. Survived by grieving parents and boyfriend.” The article featured a portrait taken from her high school yearbook, surrounded by a dozen other taller girls in cheerleading uniforms. I stare at the photo, my mind racing as I examine it more closely. She must have dyed her hair blonde, and it seemed like her face had gotten more angular, but there was no doubt in my mind.
It was Layla in that picture.
"Congratulations."
I felt sick. How could I have said those words to him? Did they have a fight? Or did he know about us the whole time and planned the whole thing? The marriage and mountain retreat must have just been to set up the location. She resisted. She must have. That must have been why she ignored me every time we met; she didn’t want him to discover that it was actually me.
Then the only reason he would invite me to the wedding would be because he knew about me as well. It would have been a rather poetic end, to die along with her.
“Oh my gosh. I just remembered but you’ve got to hear this. Henry from the first floor tried out on American Idol! I recorded the show last night. We’re totally gonna see him insulted tonight on TV! Wanna come down to my room to watch it with me?”
I can’t believe them. They stick their noses into everything but this. I suppose Simon would be more important to shallow women like them. I hear the door down the hall click shut.
I wrap myself in the blankets and bury my head under the pillows. I try to picture her, just once. Just to see her one last time. She appears among a sea of faces, some unfamiliar, some regulars at Muddy’s, some commuters on the bus. My mind is hazy, and I feel her slipping away, disappearing into the crowd.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
The alarm plays. Again? The days seem to pass even slower than usual as I stay curled up on my bed.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
I hear my phone ring. It’s the manager at Muddy’s. I guess he’s probably going to fire me.
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
Voices in the hallway again.
"Where did that nice girl go? You know, Jay’s fiancée, Lia? I didn’t see her come back with him.”
“She really was so nice. And he’s such a considerate young man. They made the cutest couple. I heard that she’d been complaining about that man lately though. Maybe that has something to do with it. What a shame, she was going to get married here too.”
I look to the corner of my room. I remember the coach barking out commands from the sidelines. “Both hands on the bat! Keep your eyes on the target! Come on! Just swing the damn thing!”
◊◊◊
Woke up, got up, near eleven o’clock.
I shudder as a cold wind blows through the open window in the hall. I listen for any neighbors still awake late at night before continuing down the hallway.
He left his door unlocked. I slowly turn the doorknob and gradually push it open with a faint creak. He was standing, facing the window at the opposite end of the room, almost like he was enjoying himself. The unpacked bags from the trip are still strewn on the floor. I could see his usual smile in the window’s reflection, twisted into the smug grin like the one on the boyfriend I always suspected she had. Had he expected me? It didn't matter. I swing the bat from the side and hear a sharp crack as the end snaps the bones in his arm. As he turns to me, I ready myself again and whip the bat around again into his stomach. He lets out a short gasp and doubles over. I laughed. It felt unnaturally satisfying. If I couldn’t be her savior, I would at least carry out her revenge. I raise the bat again and strike the back of his head. He falls to the ground with a light thud.
◊◊◊
I’m not sure what made me want to keep swinging, long after he stopped showing any signs of movement. The flecks of red on my shirt increase each time I bring the bat down again. Thirty, forty, fifty, how long have I been doing this? My arms feel like lead, and I let the bat slip out of my hands. Turning around, I survey the room one final time before preparing to walk to the door. Oh, how sentimental. I laugh again. He keeps a small picture frame on his dresser.
There he stood in the picture, dressed in a suit, that wide smile on his face, holding Layla’s hand while her head rests on his shoulder. It was an unusually sunny day, and the light reflected brightly off of her jet black hair. I can’t remember experiencing that kind of warm weather in a long time.
His room is freezing.
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