I didn’t say anything. It felt wrong to interrupt her. So I continued to build things with my fries. I’d carefully pile them up and then slowly dismantle them. One by one.
“My name’s Layna,” she said without looking up. Her hair fell on either side of her face like a curtain. Hiding her from my curiosity.
Her voice was smoky and dark, much like her eyes.
“Layna what?” I asked, wiping my mouth with a napkin and waiting some more.
She didn’t answer right away. She kept reading. And I kept eating.
We fell into a slightly awkward but strangely companionable silence.
It was the weirdest encounter of my entire life. I didn’t make a habit of sitting with strange girls who didn’t talk. I was an outgoing guy because it’s who I trained myself to become. Most people seemed to like me. I was safe. Non-threatening. Easygoing. I had mastered the art of hiding what I didn’t want others to see.
I had friends. I had a job that I enjoyed. I had an ex-girlfriend or two that could corroborate to the fact that I was a decent sort of person.
But there was something about this moment, this girl, that felt…necessary.
I couldn’t help but stare at her.
It wasn’t just her looks that fascinated me. She had a magnetism that was usually reserved for cult leaders and religious icons. I imagined walking over hot coals and jumping off cliffs. It wasn’t absurd or insane.
It just was.
Maybe I should leave. Maybe I should ask her why she was sitting at my table when I didn’t know her and it was obvious she wasn’t there for the conversation.
But I didn’t do any of that.
I just sat there. Eating my fries. One at a time. Trying not to stare at the girl who had invaded my space.
“Whitaker,” she said finally, answering the question I had almost forgotten I had asked. She turned the page in her book and dog-eared the top corner before closing it. She pushed it to the edge of the table and turned her attention to me.
I shivered. Cold. Frigid.
Her eyes were just as unusual as the rest of her. It wasn’t the color so much as the unfathomability of them. They cut through me. Stabbing me and thrilling me.
Coal black.
“I’m Layna Whitaker,” she repeated, as though to make sure I had heard her.
Oh I had heard her all right. Her name was now tattooed on my insides. Beating in my skull like a drum.
Nancy came back just then and dropped Layna’s plate on the table in front of her before giving me my slice of pie.
“Thanks, Nancy,” I said.
“Anything for you, sugar,” the waitress said with a coy wink before walking away.
“She likes you,” Layna murmured, picking up a French fry and doing just as I had always done. Submerged it in the dressing before scooping it out and eating it, then licking her fingers clean.
“Nah, she’s just a lonely lady,” I replied. Something about my words seemed to bother Layna. Her eyes were sad. So sad and so dark. They made my stomach knot up and drop to my feet.
“Yeah…lonely,” Layna said softly, more to herself than to me.
We fell into silence again.
“I’m Elian,” I told her after a while.
“Elian what?” Layna parroted my words back at me and I had to smile.
“Beyer. My name is Elian Beyer.” I gave her my name easily and without hesitation. Maybe we were making headway here. We had progressed from total silence to swapping names.
That was something I guessed.
“Nice to meet you, Elian Beyer.” Layna turned her coal black eyes back to her plate and we finished eating without saying another word.
Nancy came by a few more times to re-fill our drinks and to ask Layna if she wanted dessert, which she declined.
And then, after another thirty minutes, Layna was getting to her feet. She was leaving, and we had shared no more than a few dozen words between us. But for some reason that was okay.
“I’ll see you next time, Elian,” Layna said, giving me one last glimpse of her coal black, sad, sad eyes. She picked up her book, tucked it back under her arm and left just as she had come.