By Adonis Borges

David opened the bathroom window to let the light in. There wasn’t enough. The razor in his hand had multiple settings. He tested them all, listened to the alternating pitches and buzzes, and began with closed eyes—the long, dark brown strands falling onto his bare feet, getting stuck between his toes. Then he entered the bath, turned on the shower head, and washed them off—wet piles unraveling, loosening, and sinking into the drain.  He tried to put on cologne, but the sprays were meager. He rolled up his toothpaste and squeezed out what was left. In the mirror, he made faces: clown faces, angry faces, sad faces, sinister faces. He was ready to leave.

A large duffel bag sat beside a suit on an unmade bed. He put on the suit. He threw away the clothes he wasn’t taking—his paint-splattered denim jeans and cut-off shirts—and almost forgot to eat. A white light flooded the kitchen when he opened the refrigerator. There was nothing in it except a gallon of milk, nearly empty, which he grabbed, opened, sniffed, and then sniffed again. He poured the milk into a bowl of cereal, then finished it on the couch and waited. 

His phone flashed. 

I’m outside. 

Max saw David approaching the car. He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red, dilated. But he looked good. He examined his jaw, fixed his hair. A flushed face suited him—a little worn, sharp, and hollow—but youthful.

David got in the car. Empty water bottles, crumbled napkins, and packs of Marlboro Reds littered the floor. He relaxed in the passenger seat, and the sunset orange pierced his eyes intensely, blinding him, and he adjusted the sun visor. 

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“Who are you?” Max poked David, smiling. Max had never seen David in a suit. And the buzz cut was new. David’s face was smooth, pasty, and pale—but beautiful. His skin glowed in the sunlight, and his lips were so large, so red, full, and delicate that Max imagined them pulsing. They matched his tie. 

“Do you know how to get to the airport, or should I GPS it?” David knew the answer but asked anyway. Max’s leg bounced and he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He turned up the music. Lovely Day by Bill Withers was playing.

“I think I remember. Let’s stop at McDonald’s first, though. I’m starving, and we have time.”

They drove toward the airport on a main highway and looked for exits with a McDonald’s. David found one. Max turned down the music. He ordered a Big Mac, and David ordered a Quarter Pounder Combo, Large Fry, Large Coke. David knew Max would pay. The girl working the first window had purple hair and tattoos and asked Max if he wanted to pay with cash or card. Inside Max’s wallet there was about four to five hundred dollars. He gave the girl his card. She handed him the receipt and invited Max and David to her gallery opening. She was an artist. They should come.

“Tell your friends, too!” 

“That girl reminds me of you.” The sun had set and Max took off his sunglasses. 

“How?”

“You liked to paint when we met.”

“I wasn’t any good.”

“You used to say you wanted to help people with your art.”

David clenched his teeth. He tried to keep quiet. He stared at the cars’ taillights, fixating on their red-orange aura. “Don’t act like you have it all figured out. What are you doing with your life?”

“I’m doing what I can. Why are you flying to New York for a job when there’s plenty around here?”

“I can’t stay here.”

“You don’t want to.” Max shook his head and turned away from David. He couldn’t cry. The car in front of them sped off and Max grabbed their food from the second window. Max turned up the music. The Same Love That Made Me Laugh by Bill Withers was playing.

“I can cover you, David. I know you’re tight. Just let me take care of you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” David depended on Max for small amounts of money, but he did not want to depend on him entirely. Max had served his purpose.

When they had made it onto the highway, Max pointed at the McDonald’s bag. “Feed me some fries, please.” He opened his mouth for David and tried to keep his eyes on the road. David gave him a single fry.

“You gotta give me more than that.” 

David grabbed a large bunch of fries and forced them into Max’s mouth, making him flinch and jerk the steering wheel. Max lost control of the car. It swerved and Max’s right hand rushed to pull the wheel straight, the left to press the horn. The car almost crashed into a grey Mercedes, whose driver lowered the window to scream at Max and give him the finger. The driver honked his horn. Max honked back—and the two horns, harmonizing on the dark highway, hurled Max’s heart into a frightening and euphoric thump. He began to laugh. The driver grimaced and accelerated past him.

Then it was quiet. Max wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and stared at the white lane markers on the road. Then he realized David had said nothing; no apology. When he heard Bill Withers’ voice again, 

I’ve given all I have to give

 And if you don’t want me

      I don’t wanna live

He reached for a cigarette, hand trembling, and failed to light it several times. With his knee he stabilized the steering wheel and cupped his free hands around the flame. Finally the ember glowed and he lowered the window. 

“I can’t keep paying for your shit.” Max took a drag and ashed the cigarette in the wind. “You’re not getting another dime from me.”

“Fine by me.”

Max did not expect this response but could not stop what he started. He had to make David feel something. “I have a date on Friday. With Julia. I need the cash before then.” 

David could not tell if Max was lying. He knew that Max knew he could not stand Julia. He hated her. “You work Fridays.” 

“I got into a fight. They fired me.” Max’s eyes met David’s. “I need the money now.”

“There’s a huge wad of cash in your wallet, Max.”

“And?”

“I don’t have it. You know I don’t have it.”

“And you expect to have it when?”

“We’re going to the airport, aren’t we? When I get this job.”

“This is your 16th interview. No one wants to hire you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You don’t even want that job.”

“It’s work. No one likes work.” David regained his footing. “I have to pay my electric bill. Then I got you. Forget about Friday.”

Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the car ride. Then they arrived at the airport, and congestion two terminals down delayed their entrance into Departures. A police officer motioned them toward an open space beside the median, and Max parked. They both walked to the rear for David’s bag. 

Max waited for David to speak. He hugged David, held him tight; he felt David’s ribs under his fingertips. He held him as long as he could. But David broke the hug, and the warmth of their fused bodies evaporated as quickly as it had flickered. 

“Have you booked your return flight?”

“Not yet. I’ll send you the information when I do.”

“Okay. Good luck. And call me when you land.”

Inside the airport, David printed his boarding pass and walked to the TSA line. At the entrance stood a woman checking the passes and directing travelers who resembled Max’s mother. She didn’t care for him; he didn’t care. He didn’t like the way she treated Max. According to the sign flashing above the line, it’d be forty five minutes until he reached the checkpoint. He checked his phone for the time, worried he’d miss his flight, when he received a text from Melissa.  

hey I’m at Max’s apartment complex. Which unit is his?

He responded: 423. He’d already told her this. Still, it was no use correcting her over text.

Ok I dropped the letter on top of the doormat. Is that fine?

Yes. Thank you so much.

It would take her longer than Max to figure out what he’d done. Absentmindedly, he bumped into a woman in front of him in line. She took his apology kindly and, complimenting him on his suit, asked him where he was off to. 

“A business conference in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii! Lucky you. I get tired of this town myself in the winter. Enjoy your work vacation!”

His voice cracked when he said, “I will.”