“Who ya here with tonight?” he called from the wooden deck. A car whirred and rumbled down the street behind her, its tail-lights flashing red for a moment across the tiny building and the engine growl almost drowning out his words.


From the sidewalk she flicked her cigarette butt in his direction, her silent response. Pushing herself up off the tree she had been leaning against, she moved up the stairs and into the café. Hips loose and wobbling, shoulders back, lips parted ever so slightly, eyes ahead and squinting – no, not squinting. Smoldering. And through the porch she went.


The café had used to be a house. There was a deck, a porch, a living room and a bathroom and a back part that was presumably the kitchen. All of the sitting areas were covered in cushions in rich, eastern prints. The entire place had a warm, smoky glow to it. It was lit by Christmas lights inside plastic grapes, and a soft haze covered the room. The door was always left open, letting in sounds from the village and warm summer air.


It was a hookah bar, but it wasn’t one of the popular ones so the owner almost never carded. And if he did, he did it for show. He knew that all of his patrons were underage kids, but we didn’t make noise and we tipped well so he let it slide when our I.D.’s somehow almost always ended up getting left at home or lost. The place was a teen haven; grungy and unclean enough to feel rebellious, but quiet enough that there was no real risk. Everyone felt like this shack belonged to them, it was their special place.


The boys were leaning against one of the thickly cushioned back walls, underneath a huge mirror. I paused in the doorway, waiting for a signal from Tarik. He saw me and his eyebrows twitched upward ever so slightly; she was welcome here. Moving forward again, she felt Michael’s eyes upon her this time, but she looked at one of the boys in the corner and smiled at him, knowing he had seen.


“Evening, boys,” she said breezily, sitting down with one arm across back of her rickety, wooden chair and crossing her legs in Michael’s direction.


“B****, please, the boys are all outside. Only men at this table,” Tarik replied, leaning back into the cushions and grinning.


“Such language is quite improper for use around a lady,” she replied, grinning back with all of her teeth. “If only men are allowed at this elite table of yours, what does that make me, hm?” she reached out and took his Diet Coke, sipping from it casually.


It was a game they played. Not flirting, it was a bit too uncivil for that, but they didn’t bicker either. She liked to own the table, the conversation, the people in it and he knew it. He always made it a point to be louder, guiding the conversation, just to make sure that she couldn’t. She always won though.


“Well, judging by your particularly androgynous hairstyle, I’d say that you’re one of the men who just hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet,” he said, leaning forward again and nodding to her short hair, spiked upwards in the front. He grinned even wider now, resembling the Cheshire Cat, knowing that he’d taken a cheap shot and scored.


She slid the Diet Coke back to him across the table and stared at him for a moment before turning to Michael, “Gonna back me up here or what?”


He glanced up from his folded hands and looked between them both, deciding who to side with. He simply shrugged and said nothing. Before Tarik could say anything to try and prod a response out of him, the waitress came up.


“What can I get you guys tonight?” she said cheerily. She was pretty, with long, dark hair and a curvy figure. Tarik gazed at her for a moment, smiling before launching into an order for a jasmine rose hookah, our usual. He was always smiling. When she spoke again, it was only to Tarik, “Alright, I’ll have that right out for you,” she said pushing her hair behind her ear and floating back to the kitchen.


He turned back to the two of us, “I’d hit that,” he said simply, leaning back into the cushions again and looking at a cluster of plastic grape lights on the bar behind her. She rolled her eyes and sighed, relieved for a moment of ceasefire in the banter with Tarik.


A few minutes later she came back with the hookah, smiling and leaning forward while she lit the coal. “Thanks so much,” Tarik said, again flashing his grin at her. “Not a problem, I’ll be sure to come check on you soon,” she replied playfully before retreating back into the kitchen, but not without Tarik staring at her as she walked away.


The hookah managed to eliminate a third of the conversation at any given time, so they relaxed after a while, being lulled and soothed by the smoky, warm air. Down the street a band was playing, but only the drums could be heard through the open doorway. The evening was getting fun.


She talked about her job as a lifeguard, Tarik talked about getting stoned, and Michael even talked about a few people from school. They all remembered why they kept coming back to the café, why they had continued to come together.


“Mike, we need to find you a girlfriend,” Tarik said, putting his arm around Michael’s shoulders and shaking him a little, despite the fact that he was significantly larger than Tarik. She pushed the rich smoke out of her nose, savoring the flavor while she watched Michael look down and smile to himself. She smiled a little bit, too.


“Gentlemen, it appears that we have made our way through our fourth coal and it also appears that it is time for me to go home,” she said, pulling her hoodie up over her head and tossing a few ones on the table. Michael looked up, appearing relieved for the pressure to be shifted away from him. He stood up, too.


“What, you’re both leavin’ me? Fine, fine, losers. See you guys later,” he said, saluting them with two fingers as they stretched. “Wish me luck with our lovely, dark-haired, new friend.” He winked this time and returned to the hookah.


Even though it was summer, the warm air felt refreshing after being in the café for so long. The boy from before was gone, his spot on the deck now empty as it became later in the village.


Without a word they turned down the road, walking side by side. At no point had it crossed her mind to part her lips or allow her hips to swing widely. After a few minutes they reached the parking lot, which was lit only by a glowing, yellow light from inside a bar. Noise spilled from it each time the door opened.


“I don’t want to go home yet,” she said, turning and looking up at him.


“I don’t want to go home yet, either,” he replied. She could hear a quiet smile in his voice. She climbed into her car and reached over to open the door on his side. He climbed in, the leather seats creaking and groaning while he shifted until stillness fell across the car, the sounds of the bar and the village miles away from their glass and metal haven. They sat like this for a long time, but the quiet was not uncomfortable.


“It’s all such bullshit,” he said, his words breaking the serene surface of their stillness, sending ripples across it, although it still did not feel out of place. She didn’t look over at him.


“What’s bullshit?” she asked quietly, but not because she didn’t know.


“All of it. It’s all bullshit. School, parents, having to grow old. All of it. It’s all just s***,” he said, voice shaking but still deep and sure. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to go home and deal with everything. I don’t want to go back to school. I don’t f*ing know what to do with my life,” he cut himself off, knowing he could go on like this for a while.


She was quiet for another minute. “You’ve done this before,” she said finally and softly. “We’ve all done this before. We’re all scared of how it goes after this, but we know how it goes. It’s all a rat race. A giant rat race. The thing is, all the other rats have gone the exact same way to the finish line, and all we have to do is follow them. It’s our only option,” the resigned tone in her voice growing steadily. They were quiet another moment.


“It’s the detours that make it worthwhile though. Everyone gets to the exit the same way, but it’s the wrong turns and mishaps along the way that give us these beautiful moments and memories worth keeping. The thing is, you gotta keep moving through that damn maze with all the other rats if you want to get to the detours. We’re in a rat race with detours, Mike,” she said, softer now.

“I have no idea what that means,” he said, “but it sounds really nice when you say it.” She looked over at him. He was leaning against the seat, staring back at that single light that had illuminated his tear-stained face in the dark. He shut his eyes.

Leaning across the car, she slid a hand around his neck and kissed him on his cheek, then his lips, then across his cheek again. He reached up to her waist and pulled her closer, letting her keep kissing him before finally kissing her back, gently and warmly.



“This is a detour. This is one of the detours that you have to keep hanging on for,” she whispered, holding onto him with both hands before kissing his lips with finality.