Raven's Flight

by Chrys Cymri - BooksGoSocial Fantasy P

  How would you know what my type is?

  You like dark men. Remember that guy you hooked up with last year?

  I did not want to be reminded of that right now. I changed the subject.

  Well, Josh isn’t here. It’s his own fault for not coming on time. I’m not his damn mother.

  Josh came in then and sat next to Eric, giving me a look that I didn’t entirely comprehend. His brows were drawn together and his lips were pursed. It wasn’t annoyance. It was more like curiosity.

  I opened up my document with the notes on the cases that I had typed up. I was reviewing them when Eric wrote back.

  BTW, that Arab dude has been checking you out since he walked in.

  Liar, I wrote back. Then I closed my email account. I didn’t need constant interruptions from Eric during class.

  Then I somehow felt like I was being watched. I tried to surreptitiously shift my eyes to the left without turning my face. Then I saw him looking at me.

  Does he think I’m attractive?

  I turned my face toward him and looked right into his eyes. My face was pure annoyance. He looked at me, smiled, a little embarrassed, and looked at his laptop screen.

  Damn right you should be embarrassed. The nerve to stare at me!

  I thought I heard Josh, or someone, giggle behind me. I ignored it.

  That’s all I need right now. Another freaking man to hassle me, and Josh and Eric cracking jokes about it.

  Class started then and I paid attention.

  When class was over I immediately stood up and began packing up my stuff.

  “Are you going to the metro directly?” I asked Josh and Eric.

  They both were, and so was Dinesh. I had been waiting for that Arab guy to get out of my way so I could exit my row, but he was taking his time. If he thought I was going to talk to him, he was sadly mistaken.

  I had had enough of waiting. I scooted past him to leave the row. As I did, I said “Excuse me.” I could be a real jackass but my mother raised me to be polite when need be.

  He smiled and half-looked at me but his eyes didn’t meet mine.

  The four of us left campus and trekked to the metro. We walked more slowly than I liked because Josh, despite his long legs, was like molasses. We were all lugging our books and laptops, anyway, and even I was enjoying the respite from a rushed day.

  “So, that’s the guy you gave up my seat to?” Josh asked nonchalantly.

  Eric and Dinesh laughed.

  “Yeah, he’s going to be her next conquest!” Eric laughed out loud.

  “You think you’re so funny, you jackass,” I said.

  “He was totally checking her out too,” Eric said to Josh and Dinesh.

  “He was not!” I protested.

  “Yes, he was,” Josh parried, his brown eyes twinkling. “I saw him too.”

  “Shouldn’t you guys have been paying attention in class instead of looking at other men?” I was starting to get pissed off.

  “Josh is looking for a date,” Dinesh said, laughing at his own joke.

  “He’s right behind us too,” Josh said then.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “That guy we’re talking about.”

  Aw, Goddammit. I sneaked a look behind me. The Arab guy was about 100 feet behind us.

  “Walk faster!” I told them. “He probably heard. I can’t believe you people!”

  I prodded them and they eventually walked more quickly.

  With my herding our group like cattle, we eventually got on the metro. I hadn’t noticed that Arab guy and I hoped he wasn’t on our train.

  There must have been some event happening that night in the city because it was standing room only on the metro. The four of us shifted our bags around and tried not to be in other people’s way.

  “Dude, your bag is on my foot!” I told Eric.

  “God, Isabel, chill. You so need to get laid.”

  “Say that a little louder, why don’t you?” I told him.

  “Well, you do!”

  “God, how old are you, Eric?!”

  Josh and Dinesh laughed, Dinesh almost doubling over with laughter.

  “I don’t believe you people,” I complained.

  “You people?” Josh said. “What did I do?”

  “You’re laughing too!” I whispered vehemently.

  The thing was, Eric was right. He had said that to get a rise out of me, but it was true. My last sexual encounter had been a couple of months ago and I was already getting wound tightly again. How did guys handle it? Maybe I didn’t want to know.

  The train car was overly crowded. As the three guys continued joking, I gazed around. I didn’t see that Arab guy on the train, thank God. All I needed was for him to hear that I needed to get laid. I tried to think about something else.

  The train stopped at the next station. It was Pentagon City, and a bunch of people exited, leaving us more room. I felt a little less claustrophobic.

  I watched the people on the platform. Then I saw him. That Arab guy. He must have been on another train car. He was walking quickly, and he looked pensive.

  Then he looked up and our eyes met. I quickly averted mine.

  But I looked back. He was still looking at me as he walked. He smiled. I turned my face away.

  “What are you glaring at?” Josh asked me then.

  “Nothing,” I answered. “No one.”

  I exited at Franconia, the end of the blue line. I was always alone on the metro for the last couple of stops. Eric lived at Crystal City, and Josh got off the metro at King Street in Old Town Alexandria, where he lived. Josh usually drove Dinesh home, so he left at King Street too.

  Then I was alone with my thoughts. I suddenly remembered Hannah Arendt. There are not dangerous thoughts. Thinking itself is dangerous. That was certainly true.

  I couldn’t believe that I still remembered my undergraduate Philosophy class. I guess it’s because I have no life.

  When the train arrived at the Franconia metro station, I exited and then walked outside the metro station, onto the sidewalk. I was renting an apartment in a building across the street from the metro. I almost always walked home. It only took a few minutes.

  The worst part was that you had to walk under a small overpass, which wasn’t well lit. But there was always heavy traffic, so I never considered it a big deal.

  My Mom probably wouldn’t like it if she knew that I walked home alone, but I was a big girl now, I figured. Once I turned thirty years old I refused to take any more of her mothering crap. I also refused to park at the garage and pay the daily $4.75 parking fee on top of the metro fees I paid, especially considering that I was paying a rent premium for living next to the metro station.

  I finally arrived at my building. You had to use a key fob to open the main door. I took a look around to make sure no shady characters were milling about (you never knew, living so close to the metro). Once I was certain, I swiped the key fob and entered, making sure that the door was shut behind me.

  I walked upstairs to the second floor. I never bothered with the elevator unless I was carrying furniture or something heavy. Taking the stairs was faster than taking the elevator anyway, and I liked the extra exercise.

  As I walked upstairs I took out my keys. I didn’t pass anyone as I walked down my hallway.

  My apartment had only one bedroom. When you walked in, the kitchen was directly on the left and the living room was in front of the kitchen. Further down the living room, I had a dining table, in front of a large window, which had a view of the outside parking lot. At least the large window afforded a good amount of sunlight. Across from the living room was a hallway, off of which were a bedroom and a bathroom.

  In the living room, on the right wall, was a large console with my flat screen TV and several family photos, including some of my father.

  I didn’t have a proper den, so I usually studied at the dining table or sitting on the sofa opposite the TV. The sofa was pushed flush against the left-hand wall
and there was a small coffee table directly in front of it.

  I dropped my backpack on the ground and opened the fridge. I took out some leftover quesadillas I had made the day before and reheated them in the microwave. Cooking was fairly easy if you lived by yourself. When I cooked, I made a lot of food and ate leftovers all week. That way I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to eat when I got home after class. It was impossible for me not to cook a lot of food. That was another thing I had inherited from my mother. I couldn’t cook in small quantities.

  I took my plate to the sofa and sat down. I wouldn’t study any more. At this hour, the law of diminishing returns had set in and, even if I tried to read, my mind was too tired to mentally register anything.

  I started thinking about my mother then. I should call her. She knew this week was the first week of class and would want to know how it went. I should probably visit her sometime soon too. She lived alone.

  I always wondered why she never got remarried. She had been young when my father had died, like around thirty-eight years old, not much older than me. She currently had a long-term boyfriend, but he didn’t live with her. I wondered how she had coped with her sex drive, or even if she had one at that time. If she had been anything like I was now, she would have been crazy horny. I had always believed that my amped up sex drive was because of my age, the whole biological clock and all.

  Ugh! I didn’t like to think about sex and my parents in the same thought. But thinking about sex made me think about that Arab guy. I did think he was hot, even though I had told Eric otherwise. Maybe he would be my next “conquest,” to use Eric’s term.

  Geez, I was so horny that I was starting to think even Eric was sexy. Eric was attractive, but I had never considered sleeping with him. For one thing, he was nine years younger than me. Second, he was a good friend of mine, and I couldn’t do friends with benefits. That would ruin the friendship and I would have one less friend. And I already had so few friends that losing one would be horrible.

  When I was done eating, I lay my head back on the sofa. Only five minutes, I told myself. More than that and I would fall asleep here.

  I looked around my apartment. This was my life. Work and law school and occasionally, hanging out with my sister and my law school buddies. I could vent with my sister and with my friends, but it wasn’t the same as having a partner. A partner who was also a lover.

  I had friends, I had a family who loved me, I had occasional sex, I had intellectual stimulation at work and at school and I had sufficient money. But I didn’t have someone to come home to.

  Most days, I told myself that that was a good thing. I had total control over my entire life, and I told myself that I liked that. There were certainly elements of that that I liked. I liked coming home to my apartment the exact way I had left it. I liked doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I liked never having to check with anyone about what I did. I liked not having to put up with someone else’s family. Mine was enough work as it was.

  But there were also days when I was honest enough with myself to admit that not having a partner bothered me. I would never, ever admit that to my mother, or even my friends. During moments of weakness, I would occasionally admit that to my sisters, but I knew that they would never share that information with anyone.

  I realized that it bothered me now. I would graduate in a year and a half. Then maybe I would meet some guy at the law firm where I ended up working or something. At least, that was what I had told myself. Based on my interviewing experiences and the current economy, however, the law firm thing was seeming more and more like wishful thinking.

  “Why would you want to work for a law firm?” my mother had asked me. “You’ll be working sixty to eighty hours a week.”

  “What the hell else do I have to do?” I had responded.

  “Don’t curse,” she had said. “It’s not ladylike.”

  “I don’t give a shit what’s ladylike, and I’m thirty-four years old. I do what I want.”

  “Yes, I know, Isabel. You’ve always done what you’ve wanted,” she had said with exasperation in her voice.

  “Law firm experience is necessary for what I want to do,” I told her.

  “And what is that?” she had asked.

  “You’re on a need-to-know basis, and I don’t see how you would need to know that right now, seeing as how I am paying my own way.”

  That had shut her down. My philosophy was, quien paga, manda. Whoever paid was in charge. I had been financially independent for a long time, and I would be damned if I was going to take her unsolicited, unlawyerly advice.

  I was tired. I got up and prepared my lunch for the next day and the coffee maker for the next morning. Then I got ready for bed. I checked that my front door was locked with the deadbolt set. I went to the far side of my bed and knelt down. I opened my gun safe underneath the bed and made sure my guns were there, just in case.

  As I got into bed, I again thought about how I liked having control over my life. But that was a bit of a lie. I had never considered myself a romantic, in any sense of the word. But I would readily trade a little bit of control over my life for someone who made me feel—something—something more than a short-lived orgasm.

  I closed my eyes. It took a little while but, eventually, sleep found me.

  FIRST WEEK: TUESDAY

  I stepped out of my apartment building to go to work and walked over to the metro station. When the weather was nice, it was great to be outside, if only for a few minutes.

  Since my metro stop was at the end of the line, I almost always got a seat in the morning. I was constantly lugging tons of stuff, including my purse, lunch bag and backpack for school. On Mondays I also carried my gym bag, which I left at work all week and took home on Friday. Luckily, I didn’t have class on Friday, so I didn’t have to lug my school stuff to work and then home.

  The DC metro was a riot. It was fairly clean, that was true. In fact, it was one of the cleaner metros I had ever been on. However, it was incredibly expensive. It cost about $4–$6 per trip, so about $10 a day. During rush hour, the prices were more expensive. That was simple supply and demand. During rush hour you have a captive market.

  For me, the good thing about living so close to the metro was not having to pay the $4.75 daily parking fee. I also got a transit subsidy from the company I worked for. My company was a government contractor, and they tried to generally match what the government would pay its employees. Government employees received a transit subsidy, so employees at my company got one too.

  I wasn’t sure it actually helped, though. I had the idea that that fact only pushed the metro prices up even higher, since the DC transportation agency figured that government workers had their commute paid for, and thus wouldn’t care how much it cost.

  But it costs the taxpayers more money. And for the amount of people I saw constantly crammed into the metro trains every day, I couldn’t believe that the prices had to be that high in order for the DC transportation agency to make money. Something was up.

  That was only one thing about the metro, however, and not the most entertaining.

  I didn’t consider DC residents “rude” by comparison with other people in other cities. However, there were almost always rude people on the metro. For one thing, the people who worked in DC, and who took the metro, were pretty intolerant of tourists. The tourists didn’t know that if you wanted to stand, without moving, on the metro escalators, you were supposed to stand to the right and, if you wanted to walk up or down the escalators, you were supposed to walk on the left. These poor tourists were constantly being yelled at to get out of the way. I got that. I liked to walk too and, especially if I was in a hurry, that irked me. But the tourists also brought much-needed revenue to the city. Should you people really be driving them away with your rudeness?

  Then there were the people who slammed their way onto the metro trains as soon as the doors opened at a metro station, without giving people on the train an opportuni
ty to deboard. Many times I had to push and shove my way off the train, holding onto my bags.

  Then you had the people who had their earbuds in, completely oblivious to everyone and everything around them. Don’t get me wrong. I really enjoy listening to my music on the metro too. But you need to be aware of what is going on around you. That meant when you enter the train, you shouldn’t stand there in the entrance, but you should move further inside the train to make room for others getting on. How many times had I had to shove past people to get on the train, some of whom elbowed me? Sardines in a can.

  The other day I had been shopping at the mall at Pentagon City. I was walking in the food court, looking for something to eat and listening to my favorite reggaeton music. Then I passed a blind man tapping his walking stick, but not really making any progress. He stood in the same place, tapping around. I watched tons of people walk around him, teenagers, older people, etc. I took out my earbuds and approached him.

  “Excuse me, Sir,” I had said. “Can I help you find something?”

  “Yes, the elevator.” He had sounded so frustrated.

  I wasn’t sure at first whether he meant the metro elevator or the mall elevator, because he was actually located at the mall exit that led to the metro. So I asked him.

  “Are you going up?”

  “Well, that’s what they’re for.”

  OK, I get it. “You’re really close,” I had said, and had taken his arm, weaving him around the crush of people. I did a bad job of it but I got him to the elevator. He had thanked me.

  Why didn’t anyone notice him? That’s part of the me, me, me mentality. It’s all about me and what I need/want. Who gives a shit about other people, right? And why would you even consider thinking about what it was like standing in other people’s shoes?

  Don’t even get me started, Melanie and I often said to each other. The other day, I had told her recently, I saw a heavily pregnant woman standing on the metro carrying two bags. No one offered her their seat. I had looked around, in shock. Men and women both were pretending not to see her, shoving their faces into their newspapers and their smart phones. So I had offered her my seat.