An Orange Night in the Diner

The orange light gasped its way into the diner between the slats in the blinds. It fell across Erykah Ondo's face in a tortoiseshell dappling. She sat still enough in the booth she occupied, almost as still as the cracked peach-colored vinyl bench across from her. But of course, there was the rise and fall of her shoulders to indicate that she was breathing. And the endless restlessness of her curls, how they chased each other around her head in the air current produced by the lazy fan overhead.

Until her phone buzzed. That steady up and down shoulder movement, that illusion of a serene bather in the orange pooled light; both were shattered by one rattle of a phone.

Erykah resumed breathing, but it was halted and stuttered. She tried to appear indifferent in front of her only audience; the bored waiter and waitress, pouring orange-tinged sugar onto the counter in front of them. They drew patterns in the sweet stardust, their eyes only occasionally checking in with their only patron.

Content that she was the center of no one's attention, Erykah let her own eyes wander towards her phone, a little further, a little further, and before long, she turned her entire head. She viewed the message on the screen. Her brown eyes twinkled brighter than the light from outside. A small smile danced at the corners of her mouth. She put her phone down. Looked back out the window.

Her reverie was broken again with the entrance of Shiri Nemeth. This new patron practically jumped onto the open bench opposite Erykah, still bopping to the music that peppered forth from her headphones.

Shiri doesn't want to be disturbed while her song finishes up. She never does. Her eyes close as the melody caresses her cheek.

Shiri always cut quite an image into any space she occupied. Even now her, a little after midnight, she had dressed to impress. Her jagged, self-imposed haircut combed to an edge. The small, sharp pink fragment of a scarf peeking out around her neck. The honed edges of a white cardigan over a flowy tulle dress. Such a figure exuded confidence. An "I'm-different-and-that's-what-makes-it-worth-your-while" kind of confidence. The confidence that would encourage you to change your name from "Sheryl" to "Shiri", because you wanted to be more memorable. In part, it was that self-assured attitude which Shiri embodied that Erykah hoped she could channel with this late night rendezvous. On a parallel plane from Shiri's one-of-a-kind look, Erykah allowed herself to be swallowed in a comfortable grey tracksuit, and the white bandanna in her hair was doing its best to muffle her outspoken curls.

Shiri's song ended. She hummed it perfectly while she wrapping her headphones up, able to hit the perfect notes without so much as an accidental singing lesson. Such is the nature of her Quirk, as they had all agreed they should call their unusual powers. Shiri was pitch perfect, she could play any instrument; sing any song; recognize a song from the first note--even that classical music that all blended together in Erykah's head. Kaleah Pahale, another of their friends who was enamored with folklore, thought perhaps Shiri had some fey blood in her, that was why she was so attuned to the music.

Kaleah.

Erykah's mind trickled its way back to her and Kaleah's most recent conversation about fairy folk. Erykah had been preoccupied with the way Kaleah used her hands as gentle pirates, tumbling and searching through her luminescent, sparkling brown hair as she delved deeper and deeper into fey history.

Now that she was no longer ensnared by Kaleah's delicately hypnotic hands, Erykah heard more of the tinkling staccatos and jingling whole notes in Shiri's voice that gave credit to Kaleah's fey argument.

The ritual of storing her music player complete, Shiri grinned and pulled Erykah's untouched milkshake across the table. This was another well practiced ritual.

"Chocolate? Good choice, it's too bad for you that you never drink what you order, but good for me."

Erykah rolled her eyes. Shiri squinted hers, and put a hand up to her forehead.

"Ow! Brain freeze."

After a few seconds, Shiri returned to her hand to the milkshake glass. Her lips found the straw, and her eyes found Erykah.

Silence. Shiri has never been one for silence, and she's more than happy to break it.

"So? We gonna talk or are you gonna sit there and stare at me?"

"I had another dream."

"So you said. Why am I here? I haven't dated anyone ever, so I'm kind of an abyss of dating advice."

"But you have a way with people; you can just talk to anyone. How do you do that?"

"Like this."

Shiri gestured at the intangible conversational threads that had spread across the table just now. Erykah pushed her phone back and forth between her hands, and shook her head.

"Ok sure, but that doesn't just come to me. If I go see Kaleah, and I get in front of her door, I'll instantly forget what I'm gonna say and then she'll open the door and while she's waiting for me to say something, her little dogs are going to run out the door and then the rest of the evening will be spent putting up lost pet posters and hoping they don't end up out on the road somewhere run over by a car."

"You sure your Quirk isn't cynicism? Jeebies, Erykah! Just go over and say hi or something. 'Remember me? We are friends. Wanna be girlfriends?' Bam! Excellent pick-up line!"

The shadow of a moth swam through a puddle of orange light that rested across Erykah's face. An idea of success traversing its way across her face as she imagined the abstract concept of Kaleah actually saying yes to a date.