Inescapable

I want to live alone
Because the greatest love
Is always ruined by the bickering
The argument of living...

The noises of the city drown out the cries of the helpless and the hopeless. The lights that illuminate the streets blind you from the grime that hides in plain sight. Touch, taste, and smell; a life downtown is an assault on all of the senses. Yet in spite of the madness there she was, calling my name from across the crowd. We hadn't seen each other in nearly twenty years, so obviously my first instinct was to dive into a nearby dumpster. Surely she would be unable to sniff me out amidst the odor of discarded dinners and other forsaken filth. Perhaps if I were to disappear into a nearby sex club... Either way, I would end up sticky and covered in someone else's mess. My only hope was for her to get hit by a car as she crossed the street to greet me. Even better, she could suddenly be abducted by a gang of thugs in ski masks, swept into an unmarked van, and sold into pretty white girl slavery. Ah yes, if only.

“Ashe? Asher Hayes? Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!”

I literally wanted to stab myself in the eye.

We exchanged pleasantries while I searched for an acceptable escape route. She was in town to see her family's lawyer. I was fine. She was divorcing another husband. I was fine. She talked incessantly, finding opportunities to touch my arm or any other body part she deemed appropriate while laughing to reinforce how happy she was these days. I chuckled uncomfortably while pondering to myself which one of us was more dead inside. If it wasn't me, it would be soon enough. I nodded along, a clear sign of a man on conversational autopilot, while the chatter winded it's way along a stream of generalities. My line of sight began to drift toward a homeless man sharing a meal with a flock of pigeons. At least they seemed to be enjoying each other's company, but then again the disingenuous smile painted on my face might have made it seem as if I were enjoying myself as well. Enjoying myself about as much as a man on a date with a bird.

In all fairness, she had aged well. Skin pulled back just enough to erase any sign of wrinkling, but not enough to use her face as a bongo drum. Her hair a perfect golden blonde, hiding the grey that had began to grow when she was a freshman in college. Manicure on display at all times, a perfect match for her perfect ensemble. Smile, complexion, composure - all overwrought, meticulously maintained, and very, very white. She had curated a look, and it had only become more refined and more expensive over the years. Long gone was the girl who wore sweatshirts with boxer shorts, who giggled when she made embarrassing noises on our quiet nights spent alone at home. This woman was someone else completely. I wasn't the only one she had left behind all those years ago.

“So Mickey's, right? Tomorrow night. Seven?”

Wait. What? What had we been talking about this whole time? What had I agreed to? Maybe I should have paid more attention. “The bar? Yeah. I'll be there.” Yeah. This was no big deal. Mickey's was only my favorite bar. My sanctuary in this rat-hole of a city. I'll just never go back there, ever again. No big deal.

...Fuck.