Improv

I remember my last night in that old city. The rain was pounding and, underneath, was a dull and persistent drum. My toes were newly painted as I pressed on the brake in the darkness of the parking structure. My phone lit up and I noticed the name of a friend. I answered and heard an unexpected voice. 

A woman with a thick and fake southern accent yelled into my ear. She said that she had my friend’s phone and had seen his texts to me. She told me that she had done her research and knew my story. 

He was an actor who enjoyed improv. He and I had bonded over a shared interest in people named David. In that city this was a common theme as inhabitants found simple tethers to help keep them upright when the thick air bent them away from memories and the words that conjured them. 

I heard my friend speak in the background as if tied to a chair. He told her to please stop. His voice was constrained while hers grew. I realized, suddenly, that she was him and he was her. He was the woman in my ear and she was the friend that I’d known but not known. His southern accent was much better than I would have expected it to be. He must have been practicing a lot over the years. I hung up the phone. 

He texted me the next day that I should file a restraining order. That she was crazy and dangerous.

She texted me that she was coming for me and I should gather my cane and hobble away before it was too late.

I took stock and reminded myself that these two were one. They were warning me and coming for me at the same time. They wanted to hug me and they wanted to kill me and I wondered, how could this have happened? The red sky didn’t warn me. The air was still thick, as always.

I locked my door and slept with a kitchen knife that last night. In the morning I packed my bags and left. The man and the woman followed me, closing the city gates as I met the horizon. The drum sound slowly faded and I felt the air lighten. I took a new breath.