Orange

We didn’t talk much for the first several minutes of the drive. Anna occasionally told me where to go, and I’d just nod and drive on, my eyes on the road and the dark countryside.

“You know,” I said, breaking the silence, “this is the last place I’d like to be in should my car break down.”

She didn’t reply.

“There are no lamp posts, no emergency booths, nothing. If I get a flat tire, I swear, I’ll have a panic attack and die.”

“I’m sure you would,” she muttered.

I rolled my eyes. Well, if she’s still going on bitching about whatever, never mind then.

I lit a cigarette and opened my window. I was only into my third puff when she said, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t smoke in the car.”

Jesus christ, the nerve of this woman! This was my goddamned car for crying out loud!

Regardless, I took one last puff and ditched the stick; it tasted like paper, anyhow. I closed up the window and drove on without saying a word.

All this silence soon started getting to me, so I decided to play a CD. But Anna had the same thing in mind. We reached for the player at the same time, and my fingers brushed against hers. It was awkward and funny, but I didn’t smile. “Just press that button to start it,” I told her.

“Never mind.” She retracted her hand. “Why are you so quiet?”

Did she even have to ask? I was quiet because I was driving home this Ice Queen who dissed me the entire evening and told me to ditch my cigarette when it was my own frickin’ car! What did she expect me to do, cartwheels of joy?

“I don’t understand why you got upset in the restaurant,” I said.

“You don’t understand? Are you really that dense, Cris?”

I stared at the road.

“I told you to stay away from Michael. But did you listen? No! You had to act like some tough guy.” She shook her head and turned away. “Boys.”

Boys whatever. Girls would never understand why.

She was about to say something, but I spoke ahead. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She was silent for a while. “Fine,” she then said.

I switched on the CD player. Slow rock music started to play.

As I drove, I realized I should at least try to salvage what I could from this, even if it was a date from hell. “Look, about what happened…”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I’d like to talk about it now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Fine. Talk.”

“About what happened with bandana boy—I’m sorry.” Man, if she thought I was sorry, wait until I got back at Michael. He was going to be real sorry after I was through with him.

“People steer clear of Michael,” she said. “But he’s not a bad person. He is my friend, one of my closest friends. I used to always help him with his homework when we were younger, because he struggled so much in school.”

“Who doesn’t struggle in school?” I said. “Some kids even flunk out.”

Like me, for instance.

“Michael did stop going to school,” Anna said. “So I went to his house and found him sitting by a tree, pulling on the grass, looking far and away. He said he couldn’t go to school anymore because… his family didn’t have enough money…” She shook her head. “What would you know. You have no idea what people here go through.”

Well, what I did know was that it’s the same, stupid old story of some impoverished little farm boy, now compensating himself by trying to look big. 

“Typical,” I then said.

She frowned at me. “Typical?“

Jesus, I had to stop yapping away like that lest my big mouth got me into even more trouble. “It’s typical—how life throws you curveballs like that. And yeah, we’re poor, we’re needy, whatever. But we’ve got something, anything, right? So we take what we’ve got, be it something great or inconsequential, and we use it to make things better.”

“Take what you have, and use it?” She chuckled dryly. “Easy for you to say—being this rich kid who has a lot.”

Well, we can’t ever win against this woman now, can we? I decided not to reply. We were silent for a while.

I then looked at her. She was thinking to herself, staring out the window, watching the dark landscape pass by. I studied her profile—her nose, her lips, how the air-conditioner blew lightly on her long, black hair.

She suddenly turned to me. I averted my gaze to the highway.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Cris. Please, do not get me killed.”

Jesus. I drove on without saying another word. We soon arrived at her place.

Anna lived in one of those better-class homes around town. It had a low fence of white-coated bars, and behind was a small, well-tended garden. Her two-storied house was of creamed-colored bricks and red-tiled roofing.

I looked at her. She was watching me silently. She then turned away and removed her seat buckle. “Thanks. It was fun.”

What, the date? It was a disaster!

She was about to open the door.

“Anna, wait.”

She turned to me. “You want to ask me out again?”

I studied her, confused by what she just said. She was eyeing me steadily with a sharp and steely gaze.

“Fine,” she said. “Meet me at my store tomorrow noon.”

“What?”

“I’m asking you out.” She leaned closer. “This isn’t the first time a girl’s asked you out, right?”

I studied her. “That’s it? Just like that?”

“Would you rather we not see each other anymore?”

“No. But…”

“But what?” She knitted her brows.

“I don’t understand… Why are you suddenly… Earlier on, you were all…”

“Cris, it’s simple: Meet me tomorrow—yes or no! But if you’re going to read between the lines and analyze everything, forget it!” She opened the door. The Expedition’s interior lights instantly switched on.

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

She paused, her back to me, yet I could almost picture that smug grin all over her face. “You see? That wasn’t so hard now—” she turned to me. “Was it.”

I looked away and said nothing.

She was likewise silent for several moments.

“So be there—” she then said, this time more softly. She turned away. “—I’ll wait for you.”

She left the car and closed the door. The lights slowly faded away.

When she was gone, I sat back and thought to myself, alone again, in silence and the dark.