Two Shrimp Tacos and a .22 Ruger by Adam Meyer

Author:Adam Meyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

Harsh rays of sunlight cut through the window the next morning. Beside me, I could see Julia sleeping, the sheet rising and falling over her breasts, her head tilted slightly away. I could’ve watched her like that for hours. Every minute with Julia was precious, and I didn’t want to miss a single one.

I studied her for a minute, her eyes fluttering. Was she dreaming? She thrashed a little, like maybe she was having a nightmare, then settled back.

“I’ve made mistakes,” I said, knowing she’d never hear me. “Lots of them. I feel like I can tell you that because you don’t seem to judge me. That’s not why I love you, though. Yeah, love. I suppose I shouldn’t use that word, we barely know each other, but I don’t know what else to call it. Besides, it’s the truth. I love you and I’m not going to stop. That’s how I am, I attach to people and don’t let go. My mother used to say that was pathetic, and maybe it is, but that’s how I am. It’s who I am. And I take care of the people I love, and I do it a hell of a lot better than I take care of myself, but maybe that’s no surprise, ’cause I don’t love myself, not really.”

I felt tears in my eyes. I knew I ought to stop but I couldn’t.

“You won’t get rid of me, even if you try. I’ll always be here, and I want to be here, and I hope you will be too. And maybe this time I can get it right.”

Julia just lay there, the blanket rising and falling, her eyelids fluttering some more. Although she had no idea what I’d said, I wondered if somehow she absorbed it, because even though she was asleep and couldn’t have heard my words anyway, her mouth lifted in a small smile.

I got up and threw some clothes on, grabbed a sheet of crumpled paper from the side of the bed, scribbled a note: Going to get coffee. Back soon. Part of me worried that she’d slip away while I was gone, and I didn’t want to let her out of my sight. But I knew that was just the kid inside me, the one who’d grown up with an erratic junkie for a mom.

Still, I felt some urgency as I took the three flights down to the street.

It was just past morning rush-hour when I hit the sidewalk. The people behind the wheel seemed edgy, blasting their horns. I walked quickly, hands stuffed into the pockets of my jacket. I passed a fancy coffee shop on my right but didn’t turn in. Another block up was a small convenience store where the coffee cost half as much and tasted twice as good.

At the corner I looked back and saw only one other person on the street, a man in a gray knit cap and sunglasses. The glasses were narrow and dark, not the same kind as in the surveillance images from Markman’s.

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