Until We Meet Again

Feeling quite angry, I walked up to the corner cafe that my closest buddy was convincing me to go to.

Speculative innuendo had blurred the previous week. Their honeymoon had not yet taken place. Given that their automobile was back in their driveway and still had all of its wedding-related accessories on, that much seemed obvious. However, they had been missing for a week. Many attempted to contact. A couple people knocked on the door. Nobody replied to any of them.

We were aware that they arrived at the motel. We had pursued them while continuously blaring our horns. We saw them gathering the minimal necessities for the evening. They seemed content. Forget that; they seemed to be so utterly in love that they were the only two people in the universe. They looked delighted.

The next morning, they were meant to travel to the airport. They were thrilled with the idea of taking down the ostentatious sign that announced their marriage in public. However, the automobile was in their driveway in some manner.

And everyone was curious as to why.

Prior to receiving the call this morning. I wasn’t so sure then. She sounded unstable, as if she were about to cry or start laughing. Her voice carried terror. While we were on the phone, I could hear her looking over her shoulder, her words becoming more ethereal with each false move.

She talked in a throaty whisper, as if afraid that the horror she had endured might resurface if other people heard, which didn’t help.

She had pleaded with me to meet her at 10:00 a.m. at the restaurant. It was the only moment she could have imagined herself getting away with it.

I had concurred. I was never able to refuse her.

Qui — short for Quilla — was my favorite. Since the third grade, I had been in love with her. She was also aware of it. Though she maintained that we were “just friends” and that we remained close for the next fifteen or so years, she thought it was sweet. She had me fully enthralled.

She wasn’t my only buddy, of course. In junior high, I got to know Chinu. Before long, we were best friends — that is, male friends — called bros. Then I introduced Qui to Chi, which was a blunder. Before long, everyone was calling them “QuiChi,” and I suddenly found myself playing the role of the normally welcomed third wheel.

It was going to be my first time seeing Qui in seven days. A large part of me was expecting to see Chi there as well, or at the very least, to learn that he is okay. Despite my deep-seated feelings of envy and heartbreak, they remain my closest friends.

My fingers held the latch and remained there as I turned the corner and inhaled deeply. I calmed myself and carefully opened the door.

Qui was seated at a table in the far corner, his countenance quixotic, a cross between a paranoid schizophrenia on the verge of losing all and a cat that had eaten the canary and a gal friend ready to dish. As I got closer, she fumbled with her napkin and avoided looking directly at me, her eyes darting back and forth.

I took out the chair across from her and took a seat. “So, would you explain the situation to me?”

She stopped, fidgeting anxiously with her fork as if she wasn’t sure whether to start eating or wait for me. “We’d better wait until you’ve ordered,” she said. She hadn’t glanced up yet.

Her dish of Danish and the boiling hot cup of coffee next to it both looked excellent. However, I would need some sustenance if I was going to be immersed in a narrative. The tastiest chocolate-filled long johns this side of the water were delivered to this café every day, and I was going to indulge myself.

Our server was a tall, gangly guy who had just graduated from high school. He was probably no older than eighteen. Kind of like myself, I thought to myself, five years ago. However, he was amiable and very skilled. It read “Dejah” on his nametag.

And, sir, what may I get for you?With inquisitive eyes and bushy tails, he questioned.

“May I please have a pot of oolong tea and one of your chocolate-filled longjohns?””

His shoulders dropped with letdown. We just sold the final one, I apologize. We do provide plain, raspberry crème, or maple. In fact, we just received them in. As soon as they got off the truck, I sampled one. It’s not too bad!His eyes brightened as he talked, implying that, if anything, he was underselling the merchandise.

I had already gotten over the “Rats!””part of my mood with his depiction of the deliciously fresh food. “All right, I’ll give one of those a try,” I said, trying to appreciate his excitement more than the present state of affairs with Qui permitted.

Excellent!Still scribbling on his paper, he turned toward the kitchen and said, “I’ll get it straight out to you. People in the service sector receive enough abuse as it is. I find it annoying when waitstaff use that term nowadays.

I turned back to Qui and said, “Okay, spill,” leaning in as if I was eager to hear the most recent information about one friend or another. “What is happening? What has happened to the two of you? Why do you not currently reside in the Bahamas?”

I didn’t ask any questions, so everything was good. I asked the third question before actually giving her time to respond to the first.

“It’s difficult for me to tell you this,” she stumbled and started to shake. “I’m not sure I can,” It’s just too bad!”

“Chi, where are you? Is he doing okay?”

“Yes, yes, at least I believe so,” she said, seeming taken aback by the inquiry. “Since that evening, we haven’t communicated.”

To Be Continued