Peter & Scarlett A Story by Jens and Suzye

Peter walked out of the bar, but something was wrong.

He looked up to the sky only to witness the sun explode.

And thus end the Adventures of Peter and Scarlett?

As we rushed outside, Claire didn’t even look at me. I was still reeling from the whole experience inside the café that I didn’t mind much, but I made a mental note that I would have to make it up to her somehow. We walked down the street in silence, and I was grateful for it.

I didn’t think there was a way I could explain myself to Claire then; in all honesty, I couldn’t even explain it to myself. The world moved slowly as I contemplated my feelings for Scarlett, jumbled as they were. I don’t know how she could have commanded such a hold on me, even though we had only met once, well, twice now.

We came to the bus stop and Claire turned to me, “Peter, why don’t you catch the next one…” she hesitated, “I need some time”.

I looked at her, but could not read anything from her face. I told her that was fine, and then muttered I’m sorry. I felt terrible for acting as I had, especially since Claire had been there.

I said goodbye and left the bus stop. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I let my feet find their own way.

After a while, I found myself outside of my bank and realized that Claire was right; I did not have a strong backing in funds. I entered the bank and walked up to one of the cashiers. If I had not had my mind on Scarlett and the day’s events, I might have noticed that my cashier was very pretty. She asked me if I knew my account number, and I told her I didn’t and asked if she could look up my name. After a little work on her computer she pulled up my balance and told me, I had three hundred and seven dollars in my account. I asked for a withdrawal slip and filled it out. She took it back and after more work on her computer opened her cash drawer. She handed me two hundred dollar bills and a twenty. I thanked her and left.

As I went outside as breeze caught me surprise. It simultaneously made me feel cold and hopeful, as if some heated shamefulness came away with the wind.

I walked around some more, in a rather aimless sort of way. I came to a park and walked through it, staring at my feet and the path ahead the entire time. I couldn’t bring myself to look up and potentially interact with anyone. I continued my lonesome march and decided I needed something to clear my head.

I chose not to take the bus anywhere because I didn’t want to be close to anyone, so I walked all the way back to my neighborhood and found myself walking again with no aim. I told myself I would need to find some sort of obtainable goal to give me some purpose because I was losing myself a little bit.

I decided I could use a drink, even though it was only noon, my head was muddled, and I thought that I should muddle it a little more. I didn’t want to go home now though, Claire didn’t deserve to put up with me yet, and I didn’t want to have to explain myself to her. Not that I didn’t trust her, but I didn’t really trust myself at this point; I was still confused by my own actions earlier in the morning.

I walked myself over to “The Flying Fish” to find that it was closed. Disappointed, I slumped forward against the door and felt a sudden sense of fatigue roll over me. I didn’t know how I had gotten myself in this situation; even farther from my mind was how I would get out of it. I tried to tell myself that Scarlett was just a girl, one who I had only met once and during that meeting had tried her best to belittle me. I tried telling myself that the people who had seen me in the little café were people who I would never have to face again. I tried to tell myself many things, but in the end, I realized that I would have to face them again, I would have to deal with this, and that I had become crazy for Scarlett.

Suddenly the door flew open behind me and I found myself on the floor looking up at Allison.

She picked me up and said, “Are you really that desperate for a drink”?

“Um,” I said, and then thought about it for a second, “Yeah, I really am.”

She looked me up and down and then said, “Oh honey, come talk to your friendly local bartender.”

She took me up to the bar and told me to tell her my problems.

“Well,” I said, “it all started when I was waiting for the bus.”

When I was four, I went to the airport with my parents. My father was going away on a business trip to Europe, and my mother and I were going to see him off. This was back in the day when you could actually go to the airport and see someone off without having to be strip searched for weapons to get past security. We walked with him all the way to his gate. As a young boy, I was fascinated with all the planes. I even carried my own toy airplane with me, running it along walls in one hand and holding my mother’s hand in the other.

While we were waiting at the gate, I watched dozens of planes land and take off. It was a very clear, beautiful day so I could see them fly way off into the distance until they became little tiny specks of black in the bright blue sky. When the particular area I was standing in ran out of airplanes to watch, I would move further down the glass walls until I could find another one to track. Somehow, my mother lost sight of me. Maybe when she was kissing my father goodbye, I’m not sure. But I was lost. I turned around and realized I didn’t recognize a single face in the sea of bodies walking along the terminal.

I walked back to my father’s gate, but there was no sign of my mother. I sulked against the glass with both hands and my face smashed up against the window, tears streaming down my face, fogging up the glass, and I watched my father’s plane back out of the gate and fly off into the sky. I was no long fascinated by the giant birds. I was completely terrified. A few minutes later my mom wrapped her arms around me and held me until I stopped crying, soothing me with calm words and promises of ice cream, but for the minutes I had been alone, I had felt completely lost. I had never felt that same feeling until now.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this Scarlett?” Claire said as she threw her purse and apron across the couch. She had just come in from working the early morning shift the diner.

I glanced up from the paper I was reading, shrugged, and turned the page to continue reading.

“Oh, come on, Peter!” She sighed before throwing herself onto the couch next to me. “You’d tell Sean but you won’t tell me? You’ve only known him for a few days! Do you realize how much this cheapens our friendship? Or trust to one another? We’re roomies, Pete. There is no bond stronger than that.”

I had to roll my eyes at her ridiculous claims. But sadly, I knew she was completely serious.

“Claire, it’s really no big deal. She’s just some girl I met at a bus stop.” I lied. No, Scarlett was much more than that. I just wish I could find out what.

She crossed her arms and melted away from me, her feelings obviously hurt. “Right, Peter.”

“Oh, c’mon, Claire,” I sighed, wrapping up my newspaper and setting it on the floor. “Are you hungry? I went to the most fantastic café yesterday. You’d love it. And I haven’t had breakfast
yet.”

We arrived at the little café around 9:30, and surprisingly, it was relatively empty. A few people sat alone at tables, sipping coffee and eating pastries while typing quickly on laptops. A young lady in a black dress led us to a table in the front of the shop by the window.

“Here is our breakfast menu, your waitress will be with you in a moment,” She said with a polite smile as she tucked a long auburn hair behind her ear.

“This is rather cozy,” Claire commented as she looked around the café, checking it out. The walls were painted yellow with several artistic paintings along the walls in a random pattern, none of which having much to do with any of the others. The front wall of the shop was made completely of glass and lined with tables, so those sitting inside the shop could watch the people who walked by. It was particularly nice on days like this. Even though it was November, it was still remarkably sunny, although not quite warm. I was still wearing three layers, despite the sunshine.

All of the tables were made of glass and had metal chairs surrounding them. There were different colors and types of flowers on each table. The table Claire and I were sitting at had a big bouquet of pink daisies. Not my flower of choice, but they were still beautiful. Claire seemed to enjoy them quite a bit. At the back of the shop, there was a counter and a display of dozens of sorts of pastries. I’m sure anything you could think of could be found here. It was a myriad of beautiful colors and textures and shapes and flavors, I’m sure. I am one of those people who believes that sweets can make even the sourest person smile. Not that I’d really admit it to anyone, but I’m a sucker for sugar. It’s a weak spot, and weak spots are not to be vulnerable.

“—never thought too much about the leaves on those trees anyways, really. It’s mostly about being artistic, they told me.” Claire rolled on, speaking about something. I really wasn’t listening at all. Her drabbles all ran together eventually.

Our waitress emerged from a door behind the counter. She quickly took off a floury apron and tied it up on a hook by the door before glancing around the restaurant with big green eyes. She didn’t notice me, though. Her dark brown hair was tied up in curly pony tail on her head and she wore a floral halter dress of light green and blue along with light green four inch stilettos.

The waitress smiled at the hostess who approached her, handing her a notepad and motioning to her what tables were waiting.

That’s when our eyes met.

Within a few short seconds, several things happened. First, Scarlett whipped around and headed back through the door she had first emerged from, dropping the notepad she had been handed. Second, I stood up sharply, pushing my chair back into the glass table behind the one we sat at. Third, the glass table tipped, fell, and shattered against the floor. Fourth, every single pair of eyes in the café turned to me, leaving the room in deafening silence. Fifth, I ran after her.

“Excuse me! Sir! Sir, you can’t go back there!” The yells of the hostess followed me as I ran.

“Peter? What are you doing?? Peter, you’ve made a huge mess!” Claire’s screeches reached my ears as I ducked into the room.

The room itself was quite large however, most of the free ground space was covered with tall racks that held rows and rows of pastries and pies of every variety. There was a large wooden island in the middle with a few spots covered in flour. The wall on the right was covered with several large ovens. It was actually a quite colorful room because of the pastries and baskets of fruits that lined the edge of the wooden island.

“Scarlett?” I called into the large room. No response. “Scar—“

“Sir! You can’t be back here! Please!” The hostess ran in, the tap tap of her heels breaking the silence along with her yells. “What’re you looking for? Can I help you?”

I whipped around to face the young lady. “Where did she go?”

She looked rather startled, like I was a monster about to eat her head off or something. And I can see why she would feel that way, after what I had done moments ago. “Who?”

“The waitress you were just talking to!” I yelled, my heart beating faster every second.

“Scarlett?” She looked quite confused.

“Yes!”

“I’m not sure, Sir.”

“She just ran back here!” My mouth was growing dry from yelling and my heart was beating throughout every limb.

“Well she obviously doesn’t want to see you if she ran back here, right?” She replied, crossing her arms.

“Oh, please!” I begged. But she just pursed her lips and pointed towards the door.

I sighed, “One second, okay?”

She raised her eyebrows in confusion, but nodded anyways.

I turned back towards the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I didn’t mean to lose it, I promise. I wanted to call.” I shouted towards the back of the room, hoping she could hear. “Honestly, I can’t get you off my mind…” I ran a hand through my head, thinking of what to do or say.

“Okay, let’s go.” The hostess said softly, putting her hand on my shoulder.

“Alright,” I nodded towards her before shouting back into the kitchen, “I’m going to leave my number here, okay, Scarlett? I’ll leave it up at counter. Just ask this nice lady and she’ll give it to you. You will, won’t you?” I added, turning to the hostess. She managed a small smile and a nod. “Alright good. Call me… please… if you’re still remotely interested.”

When I emerged through the door, Claire was ready to attack. She glared at me with furious eyes before rushing towards me and whispering harshly in my ear, “That was sooo embarrassing, Peter!” With that, my eyes trailed towards the mess I had made.

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“Yeah. How’re you going to pay for that, Peter? You don’t have a job!” Claire growled.

“Actually, I got the job. I forgot to tell you yesterday.” I added in.

“Oh. Great news!” She cracked a smile. “I’m really proud of you, Petey.”

I turned and went to the counter to apologize profusely and leave my number for contact information, promising to compensate them for the table.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help cleaning up?” I asked, as Claire led me towards the door. The hostess just nodded.
“They don’t want you making any more messes here, Peter,” Claire chimed as she pushed me through the door into the street.
“Thank you! Don’t forget the number!” I shouted back through the door before we walked away.

I walked out the door, accidentally kicked the newspaper that was lying on the floor in front of my door, and stopped to pick it up. I reopened the door and through it back into the room.

I heard a muffled, “Oof… Thanks.” through the door and laughed to myself. I remembered when I first started getting the paper in the morning. Claire would poke fun at me and call me old fashioned; she would go on and on about how it was a dying medium. After a while, she got tired, mostly because I was good at ignoring it. I figured that I had gone to college and gotten a degree in Journalism and Design, so I might as well play my part in insuring that the industry that would be my primary source of income would stay alive.

As I left the building and walked to the bus stop, my mind wandered again to Scarlett. I kept hoping that I would run into her as Sean had. What a pity that he didn’t know what grocery store he had gone to; scenes played through my head of us running into each other again.

As I thought about her, I thought about what I would say, “Hey, I’m back for more abuse!” or “So, seen through anyone else lately?” I don’t know why I had become so obsessed with her, but I had, and it was troublesome.

I climbed onto the bus that would take me into Boston proper.

I tried to rid my mind of Scarlett and focus on the coming interview; I’m glad that I had gotten a call so quickly from Mr. Calvin, who I had never met. I had sent in a résumé to all the area newspapers in the hopes that they would take me on. I hoped that I would get a paid position, although I knew it was unlikely. Secretly I felt guilty on the fact that I was not paying full price for my apartment and that I was still relying on a little extra funding that my mom would send me now and again. I promised myself that I’d tell my mom to stop if I got the job.

I didn’t know where 5^th and Kennedy was, so I got off the bus at a gas station and asked the attendant if he knew where it was. As it would happen, 5^th and Kennedy was not a real place, or not in Boston. I was a little scared at the thought of being lost in Boston with an hour until a potentially crucial interview.

Frantically, I pulled out my phone and called Claire’s cell numerous times to no avail. Getting consistently more and more nervous, I called my own apartment in the hopes that she would pick that up.

“Hello?” Said a very hung over Connor “Who is’t?”

“Peter, is Claire there?” I said desperately.

“Whoa man, cool your jets. I’ll get her.”

I waited very impatiently and paced back and forth while the phone was handed over to Claire. I heard “I think it’s Peter.”

“Petey? What’s wrong?”

“There is no 5^th and Kennedy.”

“What? Let me check what I wrote down… Oh yeah sorry it’s near Kennedy Publishing on Tremont St.”

“Okay. And the 5^th?”

“Hmm oh, Mr. Calvin said he’d be in the fifth table in.”

I sighed heavily and thanked her profusely.

As I hung up, I walked back to the bus stop and waited for the next bus. Luckily, I had taken a popular bus route and another soon came. I got on and paid my fare. I sat in the back, and looked out the window across from me. I tried to straighten my hair in the reflection of the window and thought to myself that I would have to watch how much I would drink from now. As I thought about it, I realized that I was not used to the amount of drinking I had done and thought that maybe Sean and Connor were not the best influences on me. I thought that the amount of fun that I had the night before might be worth it though, because I had not loosened up like that in a long time.

The bus stopped downtown and I got off and asked a passerby if the knew where Tremont Street was. She pointed me in the right direction and I headed off.

I got to the café and checked my watch; it was 12:29, and I was safe. I walked into the café and looked for the fifth table. I t was empty, so I grabbed a copy of The Phoenix, the weekly paper for the subculture of Boston, and ordered some tea from a barista. She asked me my name and wrote Peter in neat cursive on an order sheet, which she handed to another barista who was working the drinks. She smiled and told me my tea would come to me. I moved back to the fifth table and took it. I read the paper, but thought about it little; I was too nervous. Shortly thereafter, the barista appeared and brought me my tea.

“Here you go Peter.” She said with a knowing smile, which I found a little odd considering that we had never met before.

I continued to read the paper halfheartedly, worrying about the coming interview. I checked my watch and looked out the window. Suddenly a tall, fashionable, and almost-pretty man walked into the café. I over heard him say, “Damn it, there is someone at my table.” He walked up to the counter and ordered a plain coffee, then to me. I noticed how well kept he was.

“Um, I don’t mean to bother you, but I was going to be meeting someone at this table and I was wondering if you could move.”

“Only if you don’t want to have your interview Mr. Calvin,” I replied with a little bit of a grin, “I’m Peter.”

He sat down and looked at me, “Oh, it’s a pleasure Peter… Though to be honest I’m rather surprised you’re here today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you had a rather impressive night at the “Flying Fish” last night.

I was shocked. I scanned my memory for any sign of this man, but I couldn’t find any. I stammered a little bit and then sat there in silence.

He laughed, breaking the silence with a smile. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I rather enjoyed your rendition of Hallelujah.”

Suddenly memories of Sean pulling me onto the stage and me singing flooded my mind. I blushed and thanked him. He laughed again and told me not to worry, “I’m not going to judge you on your exploits last night; everyone should be allowed to live a little.”

The waitress who had brought my tea brought his coffee and smiled at me again. He told me that I should call him Calvin and pulled out a small flask. He poured what I assumed to be some sort of liqueur into his coffee and then offered the flask to me. I was a little surprised and declined politely. He took a swift sip from the flask and then put it away.

He looked me over a couple of times and said, “So, you really want to get into journalism and design?”

I told him that I didn’t want to waste my education and he laughed at me. He explained that after college, all of our educations were wasted. We continued to chat for a while, and I found that we were very compatible conversationalists.

After almost, he looked at his watch and started.

“My goodness,” he said “I haven’t even told you who I work for.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, I can see that you already have some business with my business,” he said with a gesture toward The Phoenix. “I’m the editor.”

“Really? You’re so… young.” I stated with more than some disbelief.

“Yeah, I got promoted when I slept with the publisher; it’s how these things work.” He said with a shrug. “Anyway, so do you want to be our design editor?”

I was taken aback by the offer; he hadn’t asked to see my portfolio and was offering me an immensely important job. I told him I would be extremely happy with the job.

“Fantastic, now I can get rid of Sara, our current designer.” He looked around and in a half-whisper told me, “She’s a total bitch.”

He went on to explain that’s also the reason we met at the café and not at his office, he didn’t want to alert her to her impending firing. At any other point, I might have felt guilty, but the joy at being offered such a nice job was overwhelming. I thanked him again, and he told me it wasn’t a problem. He told me my résumé and advanced portfolio had convinced him.

“Anyway, I need to go meet my boyfriend now, but if was lovely meeting you. I’ll call you when I get rid of the b-Sara. And, if you’re going back to the “Flying Fish” I’ll probably see you around there. Tata, until next time.”

He got up and waved as he walked away. I sat back and took in everything that had just happened and smiled. Things were looking up.

I sat there and for the first time took a look at the café itself. I thought to myself, “This really is a lovely little café.”

I woke suddenly as the sunshine spread across my face and the birds outside my window began to chirp loudly. As I studied my surroundings, I was not pleased to discover I was on the floor of Claire’s bedroom, covered halfway with a sheet hanging awkwardly from her bed. There were clothes distributed messily all around the bedroom, including my own shirt from the previous night across the bedroom, being used by a sleeping Sean as a makeshift pillow. He was still sound asleep on his bare stomach, his straggly hair matted to his head, his body spread out over the floor. As I sat up, a sharp shooting pain spread across my head, the obvious first sign of a hangover. With that, the events of the previous night rushed back to me.

After Sean and Connor had serenaded the crowd with several hits, including an Irish folk song about a girl dressing up as a sailor to be with her love, the people of the pub were all very friendly towards our group. Sean and I had sat down at a table with a myriad of strangers and I specifically remember the burning of my throat as we threw back shot after shot. Connor and Claire had made their way to the dance floor while a new group of music makers crowded the stage to attempt to entertain the crowd. They did not partake in our fun game of shots, and looking back on it, I wish I hadn’t, either.

All I remembered was misted by a drunken haze. The night went quickly. I drank too much, trying to burn the sweet face of my mysterious Scarlett out of my mind, and now my body was punishing me. Maybe this is what I get for trying to forget her; despite the fact I knew I would never see her again. Boston was too big, and I was just a single person searching for another person, in a city of a million. The thought made my eyes burn.

I remember Connor and another strange man we had met at the bar helping Sean and I into the backseat, but everything after that was blurred. I had no more recollection of Connor or Claire. And even though we were in Claire’s room, there was no sign of either of them. I stood up and headed out into the main area of the apartment. The air inside was still and there did not appear to be anyone else awake in the vicinity. Through the window, I could see the sun relatively low on the horizon and the clear blue sky of the November morning.

After checking all the places a body could fit, I concluded that Connor and Claire had stayed across the hall at Connor’s, away from the drunkenness of Sean and me.

The clock on the counter read 11:00, and at that moment, I remembered the meeting I had that day at 12:30. Why in the world had I not thought about this last night? The most important meeting of my life and I decided to get more drunk than I ever had the night before. Way to go, Peter.

I cleaned myself the best I could, trying to wash away the drunken smell that lined every inch of my body. I brushed my teeth three times, used mouthwash, and combed my hair as nice as possible before heading back into my room and getting dressed for the day. Trying to pick the best outfit for the interview, I put on a pair of new blue jeans, a button up white shirt, and simple light blue tie.

When I had emerged from my bedroom, Sean was awake and sitting at the table, chowing down Cocoa Puffs. He glanced up as I walked across the hardwood, giving me a cheeky grin.

“Morning, mate,” he said cheerily, offering the cereal box to me. “Cocoa Puffs?”

I couldn’t help but smile back at the fellow. As I sat down and filled my bowl, I realized how much I was enjoying his new presence. It was a lot less lonely having him around, especially since Claire was out of the apartment a lot more often lately.

“How’d we end up in Claire’s room last night?” I asked.

Sean just shook his end, speaking through a mouth full of cereal. “Honestly, I’ve got no clue. I can’t even remember most of last night.”

“Me neither,” I said with a sigh, hoping that nothing too embarrassing had happened. Clair would surely remind me when she got home if something had.

“So,” Sean started, while swallowing a spoonful of cereal. “Who’s Scarlett?”

I almost choked on my first bite. How did he know about Scarlett? I hadn’t mentioned Scarlett to him. Claire couldn’t have told him, since I hadn’t told her. Actually, I hadn’t mentioned Scarlett to anyone, for that matter. “W-what?” I coughed.

Sean grinned at my reaction. “You talk a bit in your sleep, mate. I woke up in the night to piss, which is easy to believe after all those shots we hit, and I heard you mumbling something about a Scarlett. You actually shouted her name once or twice.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage out, as I glanced down at my bowl and stumbled with my spoon as I attempted to gather more cereal. I thought as I chewed. What was I to say about her? I barely knew the girl. Sean watched me as I struggled. He grimaced as my spoon slipped out of my fingers.

“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” he said, almost apologetically. “I don’t know if it’s a sore subject…”

“Oh, no!” I said, looking up. “No… anything but.” I added, sadly.

“Alright,” he responded, dropping the subject.

We continued to eat in silence for several minutes. He got up and poured two glasses of the orange juice Claire had squeezed just yesterday for breakfast. When he sat back down and gave me a glass, I couldn’t help but let out what had been haunting me over the past 24 hours.

“I’m not even sure if she’s real anymore,” I said bluntly.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I may have dreamed her up. I fell asleep on the bus after I met her the night before last… maybe I didn’t meet her at all. Maybe it’s all in my head.” I continued to gaze at my spoon.

“You think so?” He asked, giving me room to continue.

“It could be. I mean, the more I think about her, the more likely it is. She seems too perfect to be real. The way she moved, and spoke, and saw straight through me with her green eyes.” I said, letting the room drift back into silence after I closed my mouth.

Sean looked like he was deep in thought for several second before breaking the silence again, “What did she look like?”

“Brown ringlets, black rimmed glasses, small body, red lips,” I said with a shrug. “Much too perfect to be real.” I added with a sad nod.

“No, man,” Sean said, scrunching his eyebrows and shaking his spoon at me. “She’s real.”

“How do you know?”

“I think I met her yesterday,” he continued, giving me a mixture of a smile and a face of confusion.

My eyes widened at the thought.

He continued when I didn’t respond. “At the grocery store downtown. I couldn’t find the specific beef for the stew Connor wanted at the local store just down the street, so I went down into downtown Boston till I found a big chain store.” He paused to take another bite of cereal, despite my eyes being glued onto him, begging for more information.

“Is she real short?” Sean asked after swallowing.

“Yes,” I said quickly, hoping he would continue with his story.

He nodded, “That’s her then. After finding the beef, I went off to find some milk for our apartment. You know, it’s quite hard to live without having some milk handy. I like to have a glass before bed.

“Anyways, she was reaching up trying to grab a cartoon of fat free milk from the very top of the shelf, so I got it down for her. It was actually pretty amusing, I barely had to reach up, but the poor girl was standing on her tiptoes grabbing for the thing. She thanked me, I told her not to mention it, and then she asked me about my accent. From there we walked to check out counter together and I told her about how my brother and I had just moved in. After checking out, we went our separate ways. I didn’t even catch her name.”

I couldn’t even believe what I was hearing. “What store was this?”

He shrugged, “I’m not quite sure, sorry, man. I just ran in to the first chain store I found. I didn’t even take my receipt.”

Despite the lack of information, the fact she was, really, out there and that I could run into her at any moment gave me more hope and I couldn’t help but smile after that.

After breakfast, I gathered my things and waved goodbye to Sean, who had moved to the couch with his guitar and was playing chords from various songs. His hair fell awkwardly across his head and he hadn’t even bothered to put on clothing, but it didn’t seem to faze him whatsoever.

I headed down the stairs, clutching my leather bag, smiling all the way downtown. I felt confident for the interview ahead of me.