Strange We Should Meet Here
Nightlife
"So, what's your name?" the guy asks. I'm in the car with him, and we've been riding for a while now. Probably fifteen minutes. I know, it's not my most glorious day for intelligence, but hopefully nothing will go awry. He seems pretty credible, but I don't know him well enough to be able to decide that yet.
"Krystal," I say, shortly. I'm not disagreeable or snappy when answering him, but I don't have a lot to say. The air is pretty awkward, and there's no conversation topics lingering.
I realized about ten minutes after getting in the car with the guy that I had my phone on me, but I remind myself what a confrontation that would have been. Explaining things to either of my parents was not an easy thing.
"What about you?" I question, more out of consideration than real empathy. I know, you shouldn't make comments or ask questions in response, if you don't care in the first place, but I was trying to be grateful. I mean, I could still be sitting in my Miata wondering what to do. Even if I had uneasy feelings now, I'm at the point of no return.
"Oliver Jules," he said, smiling lightly, but still paying attention to traffic. He's a pretty good driver, I think. He hasn't cut anyone off, at least, and doesn't go outrageously fast.
Studying for a bit, I think to myself. I didn't really take the time to actually look at Oliver, whenever I was interrogating him about whether or not I should get in the car with him.
He likes plaid, I think. His shirt is beige plaid, and he has a military cap on. He wears glasses, I forgot to mention that, and he also has blue gauge plugs in his ears, but they're not distractingly large.
Having some stubble, he probably hasn't shaved in a day or two, and under his cap some brown hair pokes through.
As I finish my short observation of Oliver, I look out the window of the car, and we pass by an exit that I recognize being a little more than halfway back home.
A few moments later, he shuffles around his things between the two seats in his car, and pulls out a CD case, sliding a CD into the stereo, now replacing what was on the radio.
Instantly, I recognized it as Idiot Pilot. "Were you at the concert?" I ask, grinning slightly, and although he can't see it, he can probably hear it in my voice. "Actually, no," he answers back. "I wish I could have, but I already had pre-existing plans. I was so bummed to find out that they were playing there. Were you?" he asks me. "Yeah," I say, simply. What else was there to say?
"That's cool," acknowledges Oliver, glancing over at me for a brief moment before paying attention to the road again. "So how was it?" he asks.
"It was good. Pretty busy since they opened up for the Matches. Both Michael and Daniel were dancing on stage, but apparently that's famous at an Idiot Pilot concert," I tell him, and remember the fact that I met Michael. "Oh. And I met Michael afterward while I was heading back to my car," I add, finishing.
"That's pretty rad," he says smoothly. I nod, but remember that he's watching the road. The ride is silent for a few more minutes, but not awkward. Idiot Pilot has still been playing on the stereo, and it's their second CD.
Interrupting the silence, Oliver asks me a question. "What exit do I get off at, again?" he questions. We must be pretty close. "Thirty seven," I tell him. "Alright," he says, silence resuming. We pass by exit 38 shortly, and I lean up in my seat as we get off at the next exit, 37.
Small talk consumed the air the rest of the ride home, which, thankfully, was a short ways away. If there's one thing I hate, it's small talk. It really is a pitiful excuse to start a good conversation. Sure, it works at a dinner party, or something, where you don't really care, but in most situations, no.
I showed him the way to my house, which for him, hopefully, wouldn't be too confusing to find his way back from. I'd feel guilty if he got lost.
"Here we are," I say, pointing to my house, which was on the right as he slowed down. He doesn't bother pulling into the driveway, but in a way, I'm grateful. That would be a weird thing to explain. Not that I'm not already going to have to do enough explaining.
"Thanks," I say again, and Oliver nods, turning the music down in his car. "Here's the five bucks," he says, almost as a question though by the tone of his voice. Oliver took out the money and put it in my hand. I didn't see what he had written on it. I didn't know that this would be the beginning of a whole new chapter of my life.
Absent minded, I put the money in my back pocket. I thanked him, and got out of the car. As I wave, he starts to drive away, but I catch him waving back slightly. I turn around and walk across my yard, grabbing my keys that are attached to my belt, and unlock the door.
I look around, and everything in the house is quiet. To make sure everything is okay, I go into my parent's bedroom, and see them sleeping.
Thank god, I think to myself.
Closing their door, I turn away and walk to my own room, and collapse as soon as I hit the pillow.
"Krystal," I say, shortly. I'm not disagreeable or snappy when answering him, but I don't have a lot to say. The air is pretty awkward, and there's no conversation topics lingering.
I realized about ten minutes after getting in the car with the guy that I had my phone on me, but I remind myself what a confrontation that would have been. Explaining things to either of my parents was not an easy thing.
"What about you?" I question, more out of consideration than real empathy. I know, you shouldn't make comments or ask questions in response, if you don't care in the first place, but I was trying to be grateful. I mean, I could still be sitting in my Miata wondering what to do. Even if I had uneasy feelings now, I'm at the point of no return.
"Oliver Jules," he said, smiling lightly, but still paying attention to traffic. He's a pretty good driver, I think. He hasn't cut anyone off, at least, and doesn't go outrageously fast.
Studying for a bit, I think to myself. I didn't really take the time to actually look at Oliver, whenever I was interrogating him about whether or not I should get in the car with him.
He likes plaid, I think. His shirt is beige plaid, and he has a military cap on. He wears glasses, I forgot to mention that, and he also has blue gauge plugs in his ears, but they're not distractingly large.
Having some stubble, he probably hasn't shaved in a day or two, and under his cap some brown hair pokes through.
As I finish my short observation of Oliver, I look out the window of the car, and we pass by an exit that I recognize being a little more than halfway back home.
A few moments later, he shuffles around his things between the two seats in his car, and pulls out a CD case, sliding a CD into the stereo, now replacing what was on the radio.
Instantly, I recognized it as Idiot Pilot. "Were you at the concert?" I ask, grinning slightly, and although he can't see it, he can probably hear it in my voice. "Actually, no," he answers back. "I wish I could have, but I already had pre-existing plans. I was so bummed to find out that they were playing there. Were you?" he asks me. "Yeah," I say, simply. What else was there to say?
"That's cool," acknowledges Oliver, glancing over at me for a brief moment before paying attention to the road again. "So how was it?" he asks.
"It was good. Pretty busy since they opened up for the Matches. Both Michael and Daniel were dancing on stage, but apparently that's famous at an Idiot Pilot concert," I tell him, and remember the fact that I met Michael. "Oh. And I met Michael afterward while I was heading back to my car," I add, finishing.
"That's pretty rad," he says smoothly. I nod, but remember that he's watching the road. The ride is silent for a few more minutes, but not awkward. Idiot Pilot has still been playing on the stereo, and it's their second CD.
Interrupting the silence, Oliver asks me a question. "What exit do I get off at, again?" he questions. We must be pretty close. "Thirty seven," I tell him. "Alright," he says, silence resuming. We pass by exit 38 shortly, and I lean up in my seat as we get off at the next exit, 37.
Small talk consumed the air the rest of the ride home, which, thankfully, was a short ways away. If there's one thing I hate, it's small talk. It really is a pitiful excuse to start a good conversation. Sure, it works at a dinner party, or something, where you don't really care, but in most situations, no.
I showed him the way to my house, which for him, hopefully, wouldn't be too confusing to find his way back from. I'd feel guilty if he got lost.
"Here we are," I say, pointing to my house, which was on the right as he slowed down. He doesn't bother pulling into the driveway, but in a way, I'm grateful. That would be a weird thing to explain. Not that I'm not already going to have to do enough explaining.
"Thanks," I say again, and Oliver nods, turning the music down in his car. "Here's the five bucks," he says, almost as a question though by the tone of his voice. Oliver took out the money and put it in my hand. I didn't see what he had written on it. I didn't know that this would be the beginning of a whole new chapter of my life.
Absent minded, I put the money in my back pocket. I thanked him, and got out of the car. As I wave, he starts to drive away, but I catch him waving back slightly. I turn around and walk across my yard, grabbing my keys that are attached to my belt, and unlock the door.
I look around, and everything in the house is quiet. To make sure everything is okay, I go into my parent's bedroom, and see them sleeping.
Thank god, I think to myself.
Closing their door, I turn away and walk to my own room, and collapse as soon as I hit the pillow.