A Chance Encounter
A Chance Encounter
ONE:
It’s six o’clock at this coffee shop on the corner of Cherry and forty-second streets; the clouds are hiding the sun in the rapidly darkening, mid-autumn sky. A man is sitting amongst the chattering customers, his fingertips drumming the coffee-ring stained table in annoyance. A pencil’s eraser is captured between his teeth as he peruses the New York Lifestyle section of his paper. The crossword has caught his attention— and seeing as he has no job to go to, no girlfriend to pick up for a date, or and otherwise no plans for the rest of the night, he passes the time by penciling the puzzle in. For this quick-witted law student, the time passes fairly quickly. As the sun drops down and the customers drift out into the night, the man sits, occasionally sipping his dark coffee. He rubs his eyes and a dark eyelash falls down upon the gray newspaper.
Make a wish. For the sake of being childish, the young man picks up the eyelash and carefully balances it upon his index finger, then closes his eyes. Show me something amazing, he wishes, thinking of his ordinary, systematic life in the city. He blows the hair off of his finger and it is swallowed up by everything surrounding it. Almost chuckling at the silliness of it all, he reabsorbs himself with his crossword. Thirty-two across has gotten him stuck, and he can’t figure out the answer…
“Hey mister, d’ya got time spare?”
The man looks up from the paper, displaying his annoyance at the interruption. He is a lanky, long legged man in his early twenties, with the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow upon his square chin. His blue eyes flash once, then settle on the girl. They’re drawn to her purple and yellow striped top, bright orange scarf, and matching winter hat which covers her yellow hair. His eyes then flicker to her grin (which has a gap between two teeth), and her friendly brown eyes.
“Me?” he asks, raising his dark eyebrows.
She nods heartily and flashes him another bright smile. She looks fresh, country-born, and new to this city: He’s pegged her as nineteen or twenty, but her youthful face could let her pass for as young as seventeen. Either way, she is far too enthusiastic for the drab mood of the coffee shop. (And, he thinks, far too enthusiastic to be around him.)
Itching to get back to his crossword, he answers, “Well, no..” He hopes that the dismissive tone would get rid of her quickly— her happiness is unnerving.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks anyways,” she says, unruffled by his cold refute. He lets out a brief sigh as the girl walks away, having to blink a few times to get used to the lack of bright colors. Then he turns back to his paper. Number thirty-two across is calling for his attention.
But for the second time that night, the girl interrupts him from his puzzle. “Hey, mister?”
“What,” he snaps acerbically.
She shrinks into herself a little, and says timidly, “The answer you’re looking for? It’s ‘invigorating’.”
Scoffing, the young man looks down to the twelve boxes of number thirty-two across: “to fill with life or energy.” He casts a doubting look towards the girl, then fills in the boxes. I… n… v…
It fits. The girl bites back a smile, but the man can hear an unsung, “I tooold you so!” emanating from her anyways. However smug she may be, the man feels almost guilty from his attitude. Hesitantly, the man looks up from his paper and says, “I guess I owe you an apology.”
She slowly approaches the table again. “I guess you do.”
The man doesn’t know what makes him say it, but the words, “So, what did you need?” slip out before he’s aware of saying them. “Money?” He’s not sure that the girl seems like the beggar type, but who knows? Pretty much anything can happen in this city, and as a boy who’s grown up here his whole life, it’s not too hard to imagine.
She laughs, and however dim and dingy the lights of the coffee shop are, the man can’t help but think her eyes are twinkling. “No silly, not money.”
Then what?
The blonde-haired girl helps herself to a seat and rests her elbows on the tabletop. The man puts his crossword puzzle aside— after all, there’s a far more interesting thing in front of him right now. “You see,” she whispers, as if she’s telling him a secret. The man leans in closer to hear her say, “Have you ever gone on an adventure?”
:TWO:
Her name is Ryn. Her “real” name is Kathryn, but she says, “If you call me that, I’ll…” She taps her finger on her chin, looking more contemplative than threatening. “I dunno, won’t respond, I guess.” He learns that she has a cat named Gizmo that has a penchant for dog food; she hates gloves and loves mittens; and her favorite duct tape color is “rubber ducky yellow.” Dexter has never spent this much time talking about nothing in years.
He asks her how old she is, and she replies, “Twenty.” But when he asks what college she’s going to, she responds with, “I’m exploring,” which Dexter takes to mean that she’s not in college. Usually Dexter would steer clear of her “type.” He prefers women who wear grey, beige, and black— one with a 10-year plan that’s already in swing, a level, sensible head on her shoulders… and is preferably a law major. (So in other words, a female version of himself.) But he hasn’t realized until now that sometimes a little variation could turn out okay.
After spending fifteen minutes and two corn muffins discussing everything that crosses her head, it’s about time for her to know who he was. He keeps it simple.
Pointing to himself, he says, “Dexter. Twenty three. I go to the U.” He leaves it at that; nothing much else to say, after all. He looks curiously at her. “Now, tell me about this adventure you’re having.”
In response, Ryn pulls out a worn piece of paper out of her pocket. “Here,” she says, pushing towards him. It looks like it’s been everywhere. What is it? Dexter thinks. A map? An address? A letter from a long-lost love? It has the potential to be anything.
So Dexter takes a quick glance at it, then looks up. He arches an eyebrow as he says, “This is… blank.”
She grins at him in a way that makes her look either incredibly sane or ridiculously crazy. “Yes, I know. It’s a list of things I want to do.”
“So… you want to do nothing?”
“So I want to do everything.” She pulls the “list” back an grabs his pencil. “Like… meet a stranger at a coffee shop.” She jots down, “talk to weirdo in coffee shop”, draws a check box, and drags an “x” through it with a flourish. “See?”
Dexter scowls. “That’s not funny.”
Ryn grins cheekily. “Sure it is. You just can’t see it. Not yet, anyways.” She glances out the window. “All right, what next?”
Dammit, she’s far too excited. He can barely keep up with her, reminding him briefly of his classes at the U. But this is a different type of challenge. He’s unsure if he wants to rise to it or not.
It seems, however, that he doesn’t have a choice. Before he can answer, she claps her hands and says, “I’ve got it! We’re going to catch a cab!”
His eyebrows knit together, his thin lips pursed. “Where?”
“Everywhere. Anywhere.”
He should have expected as much. “Eh, are you sure I’m not some murderer or kidnapper?” He still finds it hard to believe that they’ve been talking for a total of twenty minutes and she already wants to drag him into a cab. The ridiculousness of it all should have set off warning signals in his head, but he just knows this girl is harmless. Whacky for sure— but harmless.
Ryn considers him as well, then dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. “Nah, you don’t give off the vibe. I’ll trust you.”
“Just like that? We’ve only just met,” he reminds. Trust isn’t something Dexter gives freely. Not many people in this city do.
She laughs. “Yeah. Now stop looking so bamboozled. Let’s go.”
“I’ve really got to—” He stops himself after she blinks at him, brown eyes wide. Well, he supposes, I don’t have anything to do… Dexter throws up his hands, surrendering his logic and judgment. A smug smile tugs at the corners of Ryn’s lips as he says, “Lead the way.”
:THREE:
They stopped at a plaza, where people were still milling about. Light jazz from a restaurant drifts into the crisp, October air. Dexter sees Ryn pull her orange scarf around her neck a little closer, and remembering his mother’s insistence on being a gentlemen, he offers her his coat (although he’s freezing himself). But she refuses, insisting that it’s not that bad. Dexter doesn’t argue further, though he tries to pull her into the direction of a noisy, albeit warm, restaurant.
“Where to next? Does this blank list of yours have room for grabbing a bite to eat?” he asks. He surprises himself by the easygoing, joking tone of his voice. It doesn’t sound like him.
She shakes her head, indicating that she wants to keep walking. And so, casting a forlorn look back at the restaurant, Dexter follows her through the cobblestoned plaza. She hums while she walks.
“I moved here five months ago,” she mentions, her hands laced behind her back. Although she’s making idle steps, the man has to walk fast to keep up with her.
“Country girl?” he asks. He imagines her on a farm, surrounded by horses. She seems like the horse type.
“Suburbs.” Maybe not, then.
“And you’re here because?”
Her answer is simple. “I wanted to be here.” She spreads her arms out and twirls, scuffing her worn out kicks against pavement. A lively shadow, created by the antique lamplights overhead, bounces off walls and the road.
“Any other reason?” he presses. A car whizzes by— he can’t tell if that’s doubt flickering across her face or simply an illusion from the light.
“Does everything have to have a reason?” Her steady gaze is slightly unnerving, though he holds it. This girl is a challenge, after all.
“Think about it.”
:FOUR:
He knew she was going to be a bad influence.
After coming to a stop in front of a tall Macy’s store, Dexter thought that she might have wanted to buy more bright-colored scarves. Or new shoes— girls like shoe shopping, don’t they? But he didn’t expect that she wanted to use the stairs— the ones marked “EMPLOYEE ONLY.”
“Do you want to get us kicked out?” he hisses, looking around nervously. The department store looks almost empty, and from the distance he can see a red-shirted employee carelessly shoving clothes back onto a rack. “That sign says—”
“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud!” she teases. “’sides,” she says, nodding towards the employee, “that person doesn’t care.” When he still doesn’t move, she sighs. “Look, I know this must be hard for you. You probably don’t run around with strange girls and go onto rooftops.”
“You have that right.”
Ryn gives him a quick look-over, taking in his blue button-down shirt, neatly combed hair, and cautious blue eyes. “Law or Med student, right? Routine sort of guy who doesn’t like taking chances?” She squints at him. “You probably have your whole life planned out. Retirement plan and all.”
“You’ve nailed me,” he deadpans, but he’s secretly amazed that she could gather all of that. He ought to be more cryptic to girls he meets in coffee shops. He tries again to drill some sense into the girl. “They’re closing soon. Do you know how many laws—”
She continues as if he never spoke. “But it’s all right.” She smiles at him. “Even though you’re awfully boring, I think you have it in you to have some fun. The view is worth it. Come on.”
Dexter can’t decide if he wants to protest that he’s absolutely not boring or if it’s not worth his breath. Either way, he doesn’t have the time; once again, she chooses for him. The red door swings open before him.
Call it craziness, or peer pressure: either way, Dexter follows her up the stairs to the roof.
:FIVE:
She lifts her face to face the sky and a blissful smile blooms across her face. “Can you see this? Can you smell that, hear this?”
All Dexter can see, however, are the rainbow puddles of oil reflecting the lamplight, and the dark sky without any stars. All he can smell is the exhaust from the cars below, and the bakery a block away. And all he can hear is the cacophony of honking cars and the wind. How can Ryn see something beautiful? There are lights, and sounds, but Dexter thinks that he’s been living in the city for too long to appreciate it like Ryn does.
To her, he says, “You’re crazy.” To himself, though, he wonders if he’s missing something. He attempts to remain aloof as a smile fights its way onto his face. Her childlike amazement at the city is contagious.
“I know,” she replies. “But having an adventure is about fun, right? You don’t always need a plan.”
“Hmmph,” he replies. He’s definitely missing something. He’s known that for a while.
But maybe now he’s ready to search for it.
:SIX:
Before long, the evening is over, and it’s time that Dexter should be heading home. They share a cab and it drops him off at his apartment. The dark-haired man finds himself grasping for something else to say, something else to do— anything but go home.
He’s far too quiet for too long, though, and Ryn has to do the speaking. “I guess I owe you an apology,” Ryn quips. “For taking out of your safety zone.” She’s still teasing him, he can feel, but Dexter is far past being offended.
He stares at her searchingly, taking in her bright clothes and sparkling eyes. “Thank you,” he says finally. He knows she’ll understand why.
“I know.” Smiling one last time, Ryn gives him the briefest of hugs, then slides into the dirty yellow cab. She gives the cabbie a destination— he imagines that she says, “anywhere.” He doesn’t move until the taillights disappear.
He shuffles into the building, feeling awfully mediocre as he reaches around for his keys and even more cliché when he orders Chinese takeout. He stares out the window and wishes he could be back on the roof (then realizes he has no freaking idea where the roof even is.)
So he just sits, eaing his Chinese takeout, and waits for something to happen. Nothing does, of course, because she’s already gone.
Being normal has never been this hard.
:SEVEN:
It’s not until she’s long gone that he realizes he doesn’t have any way to contact her again. After spending a whole evening with this girl, he still has no idea who she is, other than “Ryn, who has a cat named Gizmo, likes yellow duct tape, rooftops, and brightly-colored scarves.”
He remains disappointed until he discovers something familiar in his pocket— the folded list. Accompanying ‘talk to weirdo in coffee shop’ and ‘roofjacking’ is ‘Coffee with Ryn at seven tomorrow?‘
“Huh.” Dexter smiles. He intends on checking that off his adventure list.
This was written by me (Steph) for a contest on hexrpg. My username’s Cyndog. If you still want to make sure it’s me, feel free to owl/PM me there or ask a question here. xD
