Photographs of Graves

I twirled a tiny plastic spoon slowly around the steaming liquid, the sun radiating in a soft tone off the white edge of the styrofoam cup. Zoe drank tea, the smell of herbs wafting up into the air from the dark tea leaves. Her cup was a brown glazed porcelain and clinked when she set it back down on her plate.

This coffee shop resembled more of a low-key, classy club than the homely coffee house at the corner. I mainly wanted to spend some time alone with Zoe without getting harassed by my coworkers, Graves included. Besides, Zoe had spent the better part of two hours waiting for me at the other coffee house, so I thought a change in scenery was in order. A small group of fellow twenty somethings danced in the dim, rotating lights of a modest-sized dance floor to a pulsing tune by Gotye, hips locked to their partners. Another group shuffled around the bar and at corner tables, voices low and private. A couple walked outside hand in hand to have a smoke, murmuring sweet, intoxicated nothings to each other. The club was classy enough that no one was visibly drunk, but some girls stumbled a bit in their high heels and business casual dresses. A couple guys brushed past Zoe, one of them slipping a napkin next to her tea cup. She quietly placed the slip of tissue into her hand bag, not even glancing at the number written on it.

The air buzzed with a low thrum of lust and vibrant nocturnal energy, the song changing into a catchy electronic tune. A digital wall clock ticked past one AM.

“So you had the nightmare again,” Zoe sighed. Her blue eyes locked on mine, hand resting softly under her chin. When we were out in places like this she always was extremely conscious to look gorgeous at all times. I was less conscious, leaning back in my chair and propping my legs up against the table. I nodded, running my hand through my hair. I'd taken out the braid earlier and let my half-assed curls fall down my back in copper waves. They didn't exactly compare to the luscious body of Zoe's golden hair, but I wasn't going to try to compete with her in the club scene. It was her element, not mine, and mostly I was just happy to have her around.

The air crackled. Another couple disappeared out the back door, anxious hands already tugging at each other's clothes. Dissonant sounds reverberated through the speakers and made me feel a little bit intoxicated myself, even though I hadn't had a touch of alcohol for weeks. Ever have that feeling when a bunch of spinning lights, strong smells, and rumbling energy make you dizzy? I was having one of those moments, eyes wandering vacantly over the shapes of moving people. Zoe was saying something again and I had to work to understand her.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Anything change in the dream?” she asked again. I shook my head.

“No, the same as always,” I said. “How're things over in America?”

“I was over at your dad's place about a week ago to tutor your little brother in bio,” she explained. She tossed her lovely golden hair over a shoulder, catching the attention of one of the men at another table. “Everything seemed okay, but they miss you. Your mom tried to call them a few times but she was all hopped up on medication. She was raving about 'custody to her baby' and 'people being animals in cages' and a bunch of other things. Everyone was really tense.”

I nodded. My mother sporadically tried to contact our family, sometimes more frequently than others. This was why I had never disclosed my cell phone number to my mother.

She had been a beautiful woman once. But the last time I saw her, maybe four years ago, her body had been riddled with the insanity that had eaten away at her. Her once round and lovely face was hollow and aged, skin clinging to the bones underneath. Her copper curls had lost their volume and shine and she stared at me, sunken eyes fevered as she curled one graying lock around a spindly finger. She had reached out for me with her cut up arms, wrists littered with fingernail marks, and I recoiled from the woman who bore me.

It wasn't a fond memory. It reflected a darker part of me that I didn't want to admit existed, a part of me that didn't care for people in the way I wanted to.

Zoe could see my mind wandering back to this reclusive corner of my mind from the shadows under my eyes. She hit the table, startling me awake.

“This place gives me the creeps. Let's pay the tab and get out of here,” she decided.

Five minutes later we wandered the lamp lit streets, strolling hand in hand with wide swings of our arms. I really do think I just needed to breath a little fresh air: tasting the sweet night air lifted the heavy thoughts on my mind, letting me push out the ghost of my mother for a time.

“You never found me a damn Spaniard,” Zoe accused jokingly. I beamed at her.

“You don't usually like my taste in men anyway. I'd hate to set up some poor guy to have his heart broken.”

She laughed and we continued to walk. She filled me in on the rest of her summer escapades, telling me about the hearts she'd collected and parties she'd attended and friends she'd made in a dramatic narration. Her heels clicked softly on the sidewalk next to my worn leather hikers. Taxis sped past in the flashing glare of zooming headlights and psychedelic colors against dark pavement, turning our light jackets out against the cooling summer night. Fall was almost here.

Zoe was smiling and telling me about a boy that had come to her house with a guitar, roses, and a package of unopened condoms when I heard voices coming from a nearby alley. Something made me stop for a moment, and I held up a finger to Zoe's lips. She stopped and raised an eyebrow as I crept closer.

I realized a moment later what had made me stop: I knew at least one of the voices. Bastion's gravelly rumble shook the air in the alley, more words flowing from him than I'd ever heard him speak. He was measuring out something in grams. Another voice tittered as he counted, anxious and feminine.

“Come on, I just want to get my smack and go,” the girl talked in a low, harsh whisper. “I've got the money, just give me it already.”

“I'm making sure you get exactly how much you paid for,” Bastion's french accent rumbled casually.

Now, when I think “French” and “fantastic journalist” the words “drug dealer” don't immediately follow. I also haven't really thought about drug deals in Europe, though with any thought I was sure that they happened. Wherever stressed people lived with excess money but too little happiness, drugs were sure to circulate in the underground.

I made a motion toward Zoe that we should head back the way we came to avoid any problems. She nodded and we turned to walk away, heels clicking on the ground.

“Make sure she doesn't get a milligram over what she paid for, got it?”

I froze stone still. That shocked, intoxicated feeling returned, making me sway on my feet. I couldn't have heard correctly. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

With a flare of courage I turned back around toward the alley, burying my fingers deep into my pockets and straightening my back. I stepped around the edge of the brick wall to apprehend three individuals, all shying out of the lamp light but still visible under the moon and stars. They startled back, the girl letting out a squeak of surprise. Two men froze beside her, one holding a large bag. That one was Bastion. The other stared at me and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Murphy?”

“Graves.”