Darlene waved one hand at him and took a drag from her cigarette with the other. Yeah, I see it, it’s nice, she said, exhaling a couple gray plumes.
Spar seem like he egged on by the fact that she responded at all, but he ain’t noticed, or had chose to ignore, the rejection in her voice. He took a few clumsy-ass steps over to her. Could I get a smoke, please?
Darlene flipped open her hard-pack and a final cigarette rolled to one side.
Are you sure you want to give me your last one?
She stretch out her arm farther toward him and push the cigarette up out the box with two fingers. Take it, she said, like she a robot. If I want more, there’s others inside. On discount too.
He took it and used his own lighter to get it started and sat down on a concrete thing looked like a broken wall jutting up from the walkway. They looked up at the craziness in the sky again, and the thrill in Spar li’l face be rising up slowly.
Like the end of the world, he said to hisself, and then turnt to Darlene, thinking some new thought, or maybe one he just mustered the gumption to blurt out. You been off work the last hour and ten, ha’nt you? Why you ain’t go home? You like it here that much? You waitin’ on somebody? Your boyfriend?
Didn’t he remember? Did she need to remind him? Darlene screamed in her head but decided she ain’t gonna answer, and Spar, who making a show of listening, had took off his dark company shirt and folded it over his thigh, showing off a sleeveless tank top. On his left shoulder, down to his wrist, he had the ugliest tattoo Darlene ever seen, a orange-and-green cartoon of a vine that be strangling a evil octopus that had fangs and a human face.
She couldn’t keep from staring at the terrible picture and screwing up her nose, and when he seen her looking, he went, It’s new. Then he goes, I got another, and smirked and pulled up his shirt to show her the Tasmanian devil on his pec, all alone, like Taz had runned over there ’cause he scared of the octopus. Spar held the ugly image on his shoulder close to her face until she felt like she had to say she liked it to make him move it out her personal space. Then he told a long story ’bout where the idea had came from that ain’t make no kinda sense whatsoever.
Hey, Spar said, once the dusk getting started. As you probably know, I live walking distance from here? And I’m finna go on home and have me a couple beers, and uh, continue to smoke things, and you’re welcome to join me if you like. Don’t make me drink alone, honey.
Darlene peered at him like she didn’t trust him.
I promise to be a total gentleman. He stood up.
Darlene be shifting in her seat.
You can bring me up on sexual harassment if I’m not. He raised his right hand. God’s my witness, he said, and then, suddenly distracted, he pointed at her ring. Hold the phone, you got a husband. Then there was a pause and Darlene shook her head and glared into his eyeballs, then Spar suddenly lowered gaze to his shoes. Right! he exclaimed. I forgot. Damn it to hell, I’m such a idiot! He punched hisself in the head, maybe a li’l violently. How could I forget a thing like that? I’m real sorry, Darlene. He put his palms up like he wanna touch her, but she knew he couldn’t.
Darlene finish her cigarette and flick the butt to the ground and it bounced underneath a car grille. The temperature had fell real quick and she ain’t thought to bring no sweater. She stood up, folding her arms and rubbing her biceps with her hands to keep warm, looking away from Spar. She impressed that Spar forgot, even for a instant, the thing that had seared itself into her mind to the exclusion of damn near everything else. She thinking maybe he could teach her how to forget everything too.
No wonder you’re always looking sad, Spar said. They started walking down the sparkly asphalt. Did them guys ever—? he asked, and then waggled his head, thinking better of it. Oh, I ain’t gonna pry, Miss Darlene. You could say whatever you feel comfortable with. Then he gone off on another monologue ’bout how nosiness had done in his grandfather during the Great Depression; he ain’t stop till they walked into his house, one them shabby joints with peeling paint everywheres, fat columns framing the door out on the verandah, sitting behind a couple magnolia trees.