Yesterdays

The sun was already well beyond its afternoon zenith, shining brightly off the distant waves, when Lonnie showed up.  She glided around the edge of the patio fence, her lower body hidden.  I was sitting at a small table – only two seats – facing out, away from the restaurant’s porch, and she waved and smiled, mouthing a “Hello, Davey!” even though she was only a few feet away.  Her wave was childlike, a rapid flutter of fingers, bending from the knuckle.  I smiled back, involuntarily.

Lonnie stepped onto the porch and crossed the patio to my table.  Each step of her platform heels clacked against the stone, announcing her arrival, and her leather shoulder bag bounced off her hip in time with her footsteps.  Long waves of blonde hair fell from her head, cascading over and around her chest, wreathing her slim figure in a moving frame.  As she got close to the table she mimed a sprinter’s dash, in place, and her deep blue, tight fitting jeans scuffed against themselves while her arms pumped in mock ferocity.  She began to giggle but abruptly threw her mouth agape as she lost her footing in the masquerade.  Slipping, she grabbed at the table next to her and righted herself before laughing an outrageous laugh – much larger than her person – and apologizing to the couple at the table.  Standing, I laughed with her and embraced her as she half-stumbled into my arms.
   
“Davey!” Lonnie exclaimed in an excited voice.  It was high pitched and juvenile sounding.  She pulled her head from my chest to look up at me; even with the monstrous heels she remained a small woman.  “Lon!  Its been too long,” I replied, and made a move to muss her hair.  Lonnie deftly ducked the motion and pushed me away, both hands pressing off my chest, and used the momentum to slide backwards into the awaiting chair.  She had a satisfied, almost comically broad smile across her face as I, likewise, sat down.  We sat silently, staring at each other, as our grins quietly tried to outmatch each other.  She broke the silence with another giggle and her dark green eyes sparkled as they opened wide, daringly.

“Let’s order wine right now, right away!”
   
I laughed again, and concurred.  “Obviously.  The sangria is good.”
   
“Ooh, get it.  Lots, please.”

Even as the waiter delivered the pitcher of wine to us, all of Lonnie’s attention was focused on me.  “So tell me,” she demanded, “tell me all about what you’ve been up to.  I want to hear everything.  Have you been a dirty ape the entire trip?  I bet you didn’t shower much.  You didn’t even bring pictures, did you?”  She had a pouty look on her face as she finished.
   
I hadn’t taken any pictures but I related the story of my previous year anyway.  I told her about the people I’d met and the places I’d been, about the endless bus rides and train trips and the strangeness of watching the people that partake in them.  I fell into long digressions about books I’d read and thoughts I’d had and her eyes slowly drifted across the room.  I stared at her handsome profile as her face turned from me and I stretched my arm along the table, toward her, resting my hand halfway across it.
   
“But what about you, Lon?  What have you been doing with yourself?” I asked.  Lonnie’s eyes lit anew.  She drew herself up in her seat with a snap and gripped the edges of our table.  I pulled my hand back to my side.  “I will show you!” she stated boldly, dramatically enunciating each word.  She disappeared under the table and reappeared just as suddenly, a picture album in hand.  She cleared glasses and plates and silverware to the edge of the table in an exaggerated sweep of her arm and deposited the album in the center of it, facing me.  With one hand she opened the cover while the other dragged her chair around the table, alongside mine.  A fragrant, inviting scent drifted toward me as she drew close.   I could smell it in her hair as she brushed against me.  I turned toward her and inhaled, visibly.  Lonnie looked at up at me.  “You still like it,” she stated.  It was not a question.  She smiled confidently and pulled the picture book toward us.

Starting from the back of the album, where the newest pictures were, Lonnie paged through.  There were shots of her on the beach, smiling.  There were pictures of her in the office, posing in front of her desk.  “Only you could make an office look glamorous, Lon.”  She nodded, sharply and triumphantly, and slipped an arm around my back.  She pointed to a picture of herself in a bar, surrounded by other people.  Everyone looked jovial and intoxicated; most of them had plastic cups with half-finished, clear drinks in their hands.  I didn’t know anyone in the picture except Lonnie.  There was a man with a tight t-shirt on standing next to her, his arm around her.  He was holding his drink in the air like a trophy and, based on the look on his face, must have been howling exuberantly when the shot was taken.  There were other photos taken at bars and parties but they mostly seemed to be like that first one.  Lonnie related a story for each but I can’t recall any of them.
   
Lonnie was nearly halfway through the album when I struck my index finger down upon one of the pictures.  “I remember that!”  It was another party and Lonnie was still in the middle of it, but I was standing next to her.  “Jeff’s birthday party!” she exclaimed.  “Remember when he jumped off the roof, into that pool?”  I nodded.  “Of course I do.  I’d lent him my phone to call Rebecca.  It was still in his pocket.”  Lonnie laughed in a way that made her body shake, even though the laugh was nearly silent, before degenerating into a series of snorts that snowballed into more laughing.  “Well that part of you is unchanged,” I chided.  She snuggled closer to me and tightened her grip around me before popping up in her seat.  “Remember San Diego?” she asked in an emotional voice.  Her hand was gliding over a series of pictures with only the two of us in them.  “Here we are at the harbor, and Sea World, and, oh, Balboa Park.”  The sun was rising in the picture, behind us.  Lonnie was curled up inside my arm.  I glanced down at her and her big eyes gazed into mine and held them.  She blindly reached for her glass and found that it was empty.  I took a long sip from my own, which was nearly full.
   
Lonnie continued to sit next to me as we ordered food.  “So what’s this about eating only leaves?  You wrote that,” she asked.  I hemmed and hawed.  “Well, yeah, I guess.  I mean, I can eat meat, I just don’t, well…”  I trailed off and looked away while her gaze held tight on me.  Her rigidity broke, suddenly, and her head lolled to one side.  “I don’t care, Davey,” she said, drawing out the vowels.  “Eat whatever you want.”  I ordered a cheeseburger when the waiter came over.  “Ooh, cheese too!  I thought you didn’t eat that either, anymore,” Lonnie commented.  “At least you are drinking!  I was getting worried about you, Davey.”  She smiled slyly and clinked her glass against mine; by custom, I was obliged to drink.
   
By the time that we were leaving the sun had started to go down.  There were three empty pitchers on our table and I had to help Lonnie get out of her chair.  I had used the table to help myself get up.  I threw my arm around Lonnie as we staggered off the patio and onto the boardwalk.  The few, fading rays of remaining sun shone dully on the crashing waves and the sound of the surf lent a somber reverence to our stroll.  People wandered by us on the boardwalk, mere shadows, nameless, faceless, darting in and out of the booths and stores.  The shop lights were slowly beginning to supplant the fading sunlight and Lonnie grabbed my arm and dragged me toward one, propelled by newfound mobility.  It was a typical, beach-side knick-knack shop, filled with useless, plastic remembrances and “Life’s a Beach” towels, all crouched on racks, waiting to prey on hapless tourists.

I spied a pathetic looking cactus planted in a tiny, ceramic pot that was shaped like an old-fashioned automobile.  It had most of its needles plucked out and two plastic eyes were glued on the front of it.  “Bet he’d rather be in the desert” I stated, stupidly.  Lonnie rolled her eyes and continued to browse the shelves of trinkets with practiced eye, one hand leading mine.  She came upon a basket of black-banded rings and snapped one up excitedly.  She grabbed my free hand and giggled devilishly as she slipped it onto my finger.  The ring glowed an orangish-red where she had touched it.  “Now I won’t have to guess your mood anymore tonight!” she declared, but the red quietly faded as black spread out to cover it.  “So what am I thinking now?” I asked.  “You’re not thinking, Davey.  Black means dead,” she sneered as she pulled the ring off and flung it back in the bin.

Lonnie took a step back and looked at me defiantly, legs spread apart and hands, balled into fists, resting on her hips.  She reached out and snatched my hand, pulling on my arm to raise herself onto her toes, as she stretched her face toward mine.  She kissed me and held her lips to mine as she began to giggle, her balance faltering under the acrobatic effort.  Her lips paced out a staccato rhythm against my own as she laughed and I kissed her back, latching onto her lower lip.  Her renewed laughter broke us apart and she let herself forgo the balancing act, spinning on one foot to fall backwards, into my arms.  I held her, momentarily, before she jumped out of my grasp and stalked out of the store.  “The ring?” I asked after her, and she waved her hand, nonchalantly, behind her head.
   
The sun had set entirely as we walked back along the boardwalk, to my car.  We passed under streetlamps and were alternately illuminated and shrouded as we moved from one halo to the next.  “Didn’t you miss our friends while you were gone?” Lonnie asked.  “I thought about you every day,” I replied.  When we got to my car I reached to open the passenger door for her, but she was quicker.  She opened it and hopped inside while I walked around to the other door.  Neither of us spoke during the short drive to her house.  Her street was dark and mostly empty; I pulled up directly in front of her house and got out to walk her to the door.  She stopped under the porch lights and turned to me.

“Davey” Lonnie asked, softly, staring at her feet, “come upstairs with me.”  She was pressed close to me, a corner of the picture album in her bag poking into my ribs uncomfortably. 

It felt like a long time before I replied.  “I can’t.”

Lonnie looked into my eyes, her mouth taut.  “Yeah, I know.”  She paused, briefly.  “Me neither.”

As I walked back out to the street the porch lights were turned out, behind me, and I had to grope along the side of my car to find the keyhole.