The look inside my closet was a sobering moment. Everything I owned was faded and smelled faintly of fish and cigarettes. Running out of time, I settled for my favorite green T-shirt and jeans. My selection wasn't anything impressive, but it was comfortable and it was me.

I grabbed my windbreaker and left my depressing, basement apartment behind for the night and only checked the lock twice.

When I arrived at the pizza parlor, Skylar was sitting in a booth by herself, browsing the plastic menu. Beneath her plaid miniskirt, her crossed leg was bopping to Elvis, and her rose-colored sweater would have met the approval of her grandparents. But it was flattering as well. And I wasn't the only one to notice. The sailors at the bar were acting as if they didn't have eyelids to blink and they appeared hungry enough to chew through the angora.

https://youtu.be/3rQEbQJx5Bo

It must have been a drag for them to see me come in. I was the one who got the smile when she looked up.

"Am I late?" I said as I took the seat across from her.

"No, I was early," she said, and then she added, "You shaved."

"Sarah said I look scruffy."

"Ha! Out of the mouths of babes. That's not true, for the record, but I think you made the right choice. A handsome lad like you has no reason to hide."

"Thanks," I chuckled at both the compliment and the irony. "But shouldn't I be giving you the compliments?"

"I wouldn't turn any away."

I glanced at her hair–long, wavy, natural, with the sides pulled back–and then my gaze drifted to hers. Her eyes smiled at me and I'm pretty sure mine smiled back. Then her cheeks blushed to a color rosier than her sweater and she let out a gasp and a giggle. I didn't dare dip below the neckline, but I already knew from the curious corners of my eyes that everything there was nice too. "It's hard to find a place to start."

She seemed to like that answer. I was on a roll, but then things took an immediate nosedive. A few guys I knew stumbled into the restaurant, buzzed from happy hour. They took the large table in the aisle across from us.

The "Hey MacRaes," the bouncing eyebrows, the loud, inappropriate comments. . .

It could have been a lot worse, but I didn't handle crowds well to begin with. And me with a girl warranted attention like a solar eclipse or Haley's Comet, or better yet, the second coming of Christ.

Soon the fluorescent light above my head was buzzing and flickering. Something winged and black passed over it—perhaps just a fat, ugly fly—but I flinched anyway and felt horribly exposed. Even though I was sweating at this point, I pulled the collar of my jacket up higher on my neck . . . just in case.

When Skylar tapped my hand, I nearly jumped out of my seat. She giggled and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Do you want to get the pizza 'to go?'"

I gasped with relief. "That's a great idea."

We paid, collected our pie, and when we hit the cool night air, I could breathe again. But where to go? This wasn't exactly a date, not with that ring on her finger, so my place wasn't an option. Fortunately, there was a warm front coming through. But that just meant it was fifty degrees and not thirty. And after raining most of the day, there wasn't a dry surface in all of Gloucester to sit on.

We wandered around for a while, and finally settled for a park bench with a view of the ocean. It was too dark to see anything more than its outline, though. With cold and wet soaking through to our underwear, or mine at least—I had no way of vouching for hers—we ate our lukewarm pizza and got to know each other a little better. Our light banter confirmed what I already knew; she was funny, easy-going, and even though she had every right to be conceited, she wasn't, not at all.

"So where are you originally from, Scott?"

There it was. The question I had been waiting for, and one I never answered truthfully. "Here and there," I replied.

"Are you always this vague?"

"No, I usually lie."

"And why's that?"

"It's nobody's business, and it doesn't matter where I'm really from. Because I can't go back."

"So, what's her name?"

I laughed. She was good at this game. Almost too good. It was a bit unnerving.

"Can I try to guess where you're from?"

"Yeah, go for it."

"Nova Scotia."

I nearly choked on my sip of Coca-Cola. "How did you know that?"

"You have a Scottish name. You're the only one in Gloucester who doesn't talk like he's from Gloucester, and yet you still have a slight accent, one I've heard before . . . up north. I've been there . . . Halifax."

Over my shoulder, I scanned the tree branches, the grass, the telephone wires, and the shadows. "All right. Keep your voice down."

"Why? Nova Scotia!" she shouted. Then she glanced behind us and smiled when the world showed no sign of ending. "See? No one cares."

"I'm not technically a citizen. That's why," I said as a partial truth. "And enough already with the Jedi mind tricks!" The conversation needed to change course, so I leaned over and flicked the diamond on her hand. "Does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what? I had pizza with a nice man I met in Gloucester? Let's just say he wouldn't feel threatened. Nothing against you, that's just the way he is."

I didn't need an excuse to hate the guy, and now I had one. "Do you love him?" The word "love" seethed out of me with such unchecked jealousy. I was surprised she didn't notice, and if she did, that she wasn't offended. She merely stared at her ring, fingers flexed open, and for the first time all night, she looked sad.

"It's a beautiful ring. . ."

Not the answer I expected. "But?"

~~~

Elvis. All Shook Up (1957).

https://youtu.be/3rQEbQJx5Bo