Day 46 - Girl at the bonfire

 Girl at the bonfire 

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

They were social media friends, but that was about it. Now. A lifetime ago things had been different. Mary thought back often, probably too often. How often was too often? She didn’t know. If she thought it was too often, then it was probably too often.

They were Facebook friends, which meant they didn’t talk or update their profiles anymore. A few scattered people wrote updates or posted pictures. She hadn’t felt like being on Facebook since 2016. She hated to use silly pop culture phrases, and it wasn’t really that the place was “toxic” but it was true that it was a ghost town. Her current friends had moved on. Relatives still posted. A few scattered people she knew once upon a time in high school or college. But what once felt like the great connection was now the great wasteland of her youth.

They were friends who hadn’t talked in eight years. No, nine. Nine? Maybe ten. Time moved too quickly now and the whole world lost two or three years that all seemed to blend into one. Was he alive? Had he made it through Covid? He was probably alive. How would she know? The dead don’t update their social media.

Mary had changed her profile name from Mae. Albert probably didn’t know her name was really Mary. Would he even recognize a photo of her from a decade later?

A lifetime ago they had worked together for an event planner. It meant they spent a fair amount of time dressing ballrooms, setting up DJ stands and checking deliveries from vendors. She had thought of starting her own business, but then received a job offer in New York. She never thought Albert was supposed to be there. He had come from one of those temp services and had begun as a part-timer who carried tables to and from the truck and was more than willing to unload heavy boxes of alcohol. He didn’t care about talking to the people or what sort of party it was or why the decorations were the way they were.

She thought maybe he stayed at the job because of her. She never asked. She should have.

Once upon a time she called him her work husband and it seemed fitting. Everyone else at work thought they were hooking up. Why shouldn’t they? She always thought they would.

She threw herself a good-bye party on the beach and ended up watching a bonfire burn down to glowing embers. He was supposed to be there. He said he would be there. Afternoon games turned to evening drinks and melted marshmallows. And evening became night. A long and lonely night.

San Diego turned to New York. Her tan was traded for snow boots and winter sniffles.

Time moved on. Ecstasy had become Molly had become MDMA. Cigarettes had become Nicorette had become Vaping. Weed had become Edibles.

New York became Los Angeles became Denver became Portland became San Diego.

She thought about him too often, for something so short, so uneventful, and so painful in the end. She chastised herself.

She used to call him when she was drunk, out on the town in New York. And he’d answer. But she never asked what she wanted to ask. And he never offered. Still, you don’t answer the phone if you don’t want to. She should have asked. She was a fool, expecting a certain male behavior. She didn’t have to wait.

She had waited a decade.

She was still that young girl, sitting watching embers, all these years later, only now it was looking at dead profiles on social media, wondering where all the fires had gone.