SOUR CHEWS
Cry baby
It was a cool, crisp autumn night, with a bit of precipitation hanging in the air. On my way out of the house, I paused on the front porch to joke with my roommate about the weather—a little running inside joke of ours. I was heading to a local European wholesale supermarket about a ten-minute walk away to stock up on my favorite seltzer, Hal’s. They have a great selection of flavors like Big Apple, Vanilla Cream, Black Cherry, and Lemon, and the wholesale prices are much cheaper than regular retail stores.
While we were laughing on the porch, a woman walked past us. I didn't think much of it at first, but after a few seconds, I turned around to look. From about ten feet away, she bore a striking resemblance to my girlfriend from behind—thin frame, long, straight black hair—but she was too far ahead to get a clear look.
I caught up to her on the next block, just past the main intersection. As I approached from behind, I noticed her stumbling toward the brick wall of the building we were passing.
"Woah, whoa, whoa, are you okay?" I called out.
She spun around, wearing glasses and a noticeable amount of cover-up makeup, and answered in a surprisingly happy, excited tone that she was fine. However, a strong wave of alcohol hit my nose immediately. "Are you drunk?" I asked.
She admitted she had been drinking and asked if I could walk her home. I agreed, but drew a boundary right away: "No funny business, okay?"
She laughed and tried to hook her arm into mine, but I kept her at arm's length. She told me she only lived a few blocks away, and as we started walking, I immediately gave her some serious advice. I told her she shouldn't drink so much, especially when she’s out alone, because some guys would easily take advantage of her.
She complimented my voice, telling me I sounded like a singer. Flattered, I told her I couldn't sing very well, though I could rap. That sparked a conversation about music. She told me she loved rock and mentioned a band called The Neighbourhood. When I told her I'd never heard of them, she playfully insisted that I do know them, explaining they had a song on a "Spider-Web movie" soundtrack and urging me to look them up. I told her I'd check them out later.
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Trying to gauge her situation, I asked how old she was. Her head dropped in disappointment, and she refused to answer. I took that as a sign she was likely underage or in the least not the legal age to drink. I asked if she had any siblings who could accompany her when she goes out, but again, she stayed silent. Instead, she shifted the subject back to flirting, suggesting I come home with her.
I asked for her name. She gave it to me (though I've since forgotten it), but when I started to introduce myself, things took a bizarre turn.
She cut me off. "I know," she said. "Your name is..." and she said my actual birth name.
I stared at her, completely thrown off. "How do you know my name?"
She just smiled mysteriously, insisting I had told her before, and pivoted back to telling me what a great singer I was. To deflect, I told her about two musicians in my life—my upstairs neighbor who plays guitar in a band I'd just seen at a local bar, and my roommate, who is also an excellent guitarist I often hear practicing in his room while I am out on the from the porch. I insisted again that I wasn't who she may think me of.
When we reached the nearby elevated train station, she announced she needed to take the train home. She stopped under the stairs of the underpass, turned to face me, and showed me her phone. The screen read "Unavailable," indicating she had no cellular service.
Standing there in the dim light, she looked up at me with an endearing, expectant expression. It was a look I have seen many times before, an anticipation of an embrace and kiss.
Instead, I maintained my distance. "I will pay your fare," I said gently. "You should go straight home, and you really shouldn't drink so much."
Though visibly disappointed, she agreed. I walked her up to the turnstiles and swiped her toll through. By this point, she seemed to have sobered up a bit and was walking steadily.
Watching her walk away, I couldn't help but think that if she were my own daughter, I would hope a decent person would offer her sound advice and help her with safe passage home. It worries me to think about how often she might get that drunk, and the kind of dangerous company she might attract. I truly hope she takes my words to heart and makes safer choices.
A few days later, curiosity got the better of me. I looked up The Neighbourhood and listened to their song "Honest" from the The Amazing Spider-Man 2 soundtrack. She was right—they are incredibly good. In fact, I ended up finding their song "Crybaby" and it's now one of my favorites.
