Don't Remember You

I headed into the local Dunkin’ Donuts to get some coffee before I headed out to skateboard. I was still completely drained from the party the night before, and my head was still pounding. Advil was going to help, though, and I needed something to take it with. What better than a mocha latte to pick me up and melt the pills?

I waited in line patiently as the morning rush came through. Coffee pots were beeping everywhere and people were shouting. All the noise was doing a number on my head.

When it was my turn to order, I recited it slowly to the girl. She scurried off to make it quickly, and I stepped aside so the next person could be served. The girl came back swiftly with my drink and I smiled as she handed it to me. “Thanks,” I muttered, and I walked outside to get away from it all.

I stood by the door, leaning against the wall and opening the little travel-sized bottle of Advil I had picked up at CVS. I popped two in my mouth and took a swig of the coffee. It scorched my tongue and throat as I swallowed. “Ah,” I hissed, the pain intense. I swallowed a few times to try and ease it, slipping the little bottle into my pocket.

I started walking down the sidewalk, avoiding the business people rushing around. I glanced at faces – as creepy as it was, I enjoyed people-watching. Certain faces stuck out more than others – that smiling old lady, the constipated-looking fat guy running, and this auburn-haired girl.

She looked familiar as she passed by, her eyes meeting mine. I couldn’t place her, and it irked me. “Hey,” I called out, and she stopped and turned around.

“Yeah?” she asked, looking puzzled. “Me?”

“Yeah. You look really familiar,” I told her.

“You… yeah, so do you.”

As we paused for a moment, trying to put a name to each other’s faces, I took in what she really looked like. Her auburn hair – shoulder length – hung down, the ends curling a little. She had hazel eyes and a nice, straight nose. She had subtle curves, shown off by the burgundy ruffled short-sleeved blouse and black dress pants. I assumed she was wearing heels; her shoes were covered by her pant legs.

It struck me that she was pretty in a very average, natural way.

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t place you,” she admitted. She glanced at her watch. “Oh, crap, and I’m gonna be late for a meeting. I really gotta go, sorry.” She held her hands up in an apologetic gesture. “Have a nice day!” she shouted as she started to half walk, half run up the street.

Yep, she was wearing heels.

And from what I had heard from Erin, running in them took skill.