The Tango

Can you hear me?
Good. I may need a witness.
I left work ten minutes ago, noticing this scruffy dark guy. He’s been taking the same route ever since. Call it paranoia, I am not taking any chances. Although, it is quite flattering.
What is he after, might you ask? It’s plain and simple: money. I was just promoted from my well-paying job to a better paying job. I don’t keep my financial status a secret, I’m not into that jinxing bullshit. Word must have gotten out. Well, there we go. Though, I must oblige, don’t take this for the supernatural teaching me a lesson about humility. This is a matter of who I brag to.
I’m not going back home that’s for sure. As the adrenaline pumps through my well-rounded vessels, I venture a little game with my uninvited guest. I take the first right into an alley. We’re out of each other’s sights. Quickly as I strut along the road I open my wallet and count. I smile at my good fortune. I quickly slide my cards out and slide them into my back pocket, putting my wallet back into its — separate — place. If this fails, I’m not giving him the satisfaction of identity theft. My wallet will do. He’s back into view.
I endeavor a look at the rascal. He’s no hobo, whoever is following me can’t be too low on the food-chain. His scruffy face was hidden into the shade of his black hoodie. He was wearing all black. The boy’s one of those he-doesn’t-deserve-what-I’m-stealing-from-him kinds of lads.
Oh, don’t act so worried. I didn’t go into a deserted alley. The alley is teeming with noise from the lineup of café’s and food booths (They aren’t literally booths, but I wouldn’t be too keen to promote them from street food). He must be at home in this little detour. Never mind, now to lose his trail. I’m going far from home, I’ll just spend a night in my old shop. Might as well give the old coop a visit, it’s been some time since I left it.
I take a right, a left, skip two, take a right. He’s not even hesitating. He looks uninterested in my little tango. Every time I reach for his hand, he refuses to dance. What a cockblock. This isn’t even threatening me anymore. I’ve had more fun with my most boring clients. I swear to you, one of them just wanted a whole full-blown campaign for his new tissue box design. I pushed him away, however, I don’t do bad campaigns. A boring product like tissues would never make a good campaign.
Well, the guy just kept on scolding me on how big a mistake it was to treat him the way I was, yada yada. I kissed up to him for sure, told him that it wasn’t his product and that it was our agency that does not promote this type of products. He took it badly. But, when you’re sleeping with the boss, these mistakes really don’t hit too hard.
Oh, she’s a piece of work. I like her, but she’s just, something else. She’s a bitch in the workplace, but otherwise, she’s a hoot. I’ll admit, she goes a bit too psycho on me every once in a while, but she loves me. I don’t get too much perks, though. I’m not sleeping with her for the job security, that’s just downright disgusting. She’s fun, and she’s hot. We have some boundaries, but if I, say, anger a client, it doesn’t take too long for me to convince her to let it slide.
I do good work, I get good money, I go home and kill time and I wake up the next day ready for it. Seems dull, don’t it. No, I have a lot to do in my free time. I always find something to have a good time, whether it involves going out or staying in. There’s a lot to do. I’m not exactly low on funds, there’s nothing stopping me here. It’s a good life. It’s a fun job. I’m happy.
I drive my knife slowly into the steak and watch the juice ooze out; perfectly cooked. I let it blend into my taste buds. This is what heaven tastes like, I assure you. I close my eyes and let the raucous of the restaurant surround me. The table on my right is especially noisy. It’s this douchebag’s birthday and he’s celebrating with a first time visit to a fancy restaurant. He doesn’t know how to act around here.
I stare at their smug faces as they laugh and snort at childish comments thrown at each other. Smiles are drawn unto their faces. I imagine their smiles fading as they go home from their little vacations and face their mundane financially distraught lives. A bald guy looks to be the maestro of this dinner-date. I imagine an unpleasant evening talking numbers with his wife.
The dish completed and the check paid. I decide to scan the restaurant before I call it a night. A couple sat awkwardly enjoying the energy of a possibly new fling. There was an old guy seated alone like me. I skipped the lonely guy. One table seated a familiar figure. He wore a coal black sweatshirt and was looking back at me. His fuzzy visage reminded me of a time not too long ago.
Shit. Wasn’t I being followed by this guy?
It starts to come back to me. I’m not sure when the last chase ended and when the new one started, but I’m going to need you to stay close for emergency once again.
I act as though I hadn’t noticed him. I can feel his malicious eyes following me, piercing my skin. I feel naked behind his eyes, as though my thoughts and actions are of common knowledge to him, and I had nothing to do about it. I pick up my phone and wallet, pocket my credit cards in a different pocket beneath the table, and get up slowly.
I walk for a while before I notice that my little stalker’s back on my trail. Back to the original plan, then: go to my old shop and spend the night there. We thus begin our little chase once again. I won’t lie, I admire his persistence. Either his need for my money is too high, or he’s after something else.
Could he, perchance, want to kidnap me for a ransom? Take me hostage, and force my firm to pay ransom for crisis. He’d make it public, force them to pay, rather than turn the other eye; as I’m sure they would.
I can honestly say I’m one of the top 10 there, but I keep to myself. I don’t go out with them. In fact, I doubt any of my coworkers have seen me out of my work clothes. Better for them, I guess. I like to stay on the down low. Call me an introvert, I have more than the results of an online quiz to bear witness. Come to think of it, you might call me lonely.
I have friends, I go out with them, attend a few parties, whatever. I guess I don’t have what you’d call a best friend. Don’t pity me; I wouldn’t pity myself. I have it real good. I’m not a big fan of the whole let-people-into-your-life-to-backstab-you kind of thing. No one’s really pure. They’re all after something. Some want money, others want prestige, some want validation, but does anyone purely want companionship? Not at all. It’s a bullshit construct in society. True friends don’t exist for shit in this world. And that’s why I consider myself lucky.
It’s enough to have people to waste time with. I have plenty of social circles, and I don’t let them mingle together. There’s the party people circle, the ones I go to nightclubs with. There’s the fine food establishment with whom I go to the fanciest restaurants with. There’s the people I hang out with for coffee. I have company in every aspect of my life. Introvert my ass.
I gulp down my shot as I stand by the bar of the night club. The hazy lights of the night clubs flash as I take in a few more moments before I head back to the apartment. The boom-boom of the speakers fill my ears and I let it slowly fade in my head as I play Mozart’s Piano Concerto №26 in my head. I’m drunk enough to let that happen. I chuckle as I see the people turn up to a classical gem.
I turn to pay my tab as someone taps my shoulder. I turn to find it’s not one of my friends. I gesture to tell him that I can’t hear him from the loud music, but he just smiles back. Who wears a hoodie to a nightclub anyways? I ignore him and exit the door.
The cold gust of dawn time weather hits my face and I realize I spent more time than I thought I had in the night club. I realize the guy from back in has also exited. I start to panic as I realize he’s taking my exact routeS. And it all comes back to me.
How can someone be so focused and determined to follow me? I just don’t get it. What could be so urgent for him to follow me for all this time. I’m confused and frustrated and I focus all my willpower into finally going to the old shop.
You’re probably wondering what the old shop is. Well, you’ve been a good listener, maybe I’ll share the details. Back as a youngster, I used to have this wood working hobby. I had taken a class or two and it turned into an obsession, buying expensive tools and spending whole weekends on pieces. And I was dumb enough to consider following it as a career.
Well, that’s when I convinced my dad, a patron of my talent, to buy me a workshop office. I stayed there a long time. Working stuff for people, and sculpting in my free time. Thing is, I wasn’t great at it. It was a minute talent and I didn’t have what it takes, so after a couple of months I packed it all up and went back home, resuming school by the next semester.
I majored in Mass Communications and graduated with flying colors. It wasn’t too long after that when I found my stable career as a partner in an advertising agency. I don’t know why I ever thought wood would make me a famous millionaire or something. I had a talent for bullshit, not woodworking. I still do.
I love advertising for that sole reason. It’s all about convincing people they need stuff they never would have thought they needed. You manipulate them and you bring them to their yard. As if they’re the profiteers and not me.
A woodworker couldn’t dream of the money I have now, or the condo I live in, or the girl I’m dating. It was just dumb on my part.
Now, however, I’m truly happy.
********
I found him in his apartment. He was on his couch, eyes fixated on his TV screen. It was as if he was never running away from me, as if he had never been in a chase. I took off my hood and slowly approached him.
It has been a lengthy chase. One would think that after the many years I had followed him, he would not take as much time as he does to notice me and figure out who I am. But I have grown accustomed to his confused and forgetful state.
He looked at me blankly and confusingly. He panicked and started to fumble in his place, trying to run away, but it was too late. I smiled to him comfortingly but he wouldn’t be comforted.
He was sedated by his life, he didn’t remember me and just stared at me in a creeping familiarity that fed him a dosage of terror.
“wha-“ he mumbled. “How?”
I patted his earthly soul to a deep, and final slumber. In his last moments, he was still trying to be somewhere else, the place he would always try to lead me to.
He never got there.