The Hound and Horse

Jas looked naked, Will thought. She walked into The Hound and Horse, the sunlight from the doorway momentarily slicing through the pub’s perpetual dimness. Her hair was pulled back, she was wearing jeans and sneakers, no jewelry. Jas always wore jewelry. Even in the shower she had on some ring or necklace that she hadn’t thought to take off. She’d lost weight, he noted, taking inventory of her, not a lot, but enough.

They hadn’t spoken in six months. Will had counted on the calendar when he’d gotten her voicemail. Six months of nothing and then, “Hey Will, its me... Jas... Jasmine. Can we meet up? How about The Hound on friday? About six? Call me, kay?” It hadn’t ended that well, in the end. Or what he’d thought was the end. Hadn’t ended that badly, if he was honest. He’d heard worse. Will rubbed his palms over his face and looked back at her as she crossed the room. She use to strip, Will remembered, before they’d met. He raised his hand to greet her. He didn’t stand up.

“Hey,” she said somewhat hesitantly, while leaning down to kiss his cheek. She missed. Grazed his ear instead.

Will nodded at her as she slid into the booth across from him.

“How’ve you been?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side. Did he hear pity in her voice? Concern? Screw you, he thought.

“Great,” Will said, a little too enthusiastically.

“Oh! Great.”

Will looked away, scanned the room. The Hound and Horse, or The Hound as they’d always call it, was their place. It was a valiant attempt at a posh British pub. Dark, green walls, framed prints of nondescript paintings of horses, hounds, or both. They’d even managed to hire an older British bartender. But is was all a little rundown, a little sad. That's what Will and Jas had liked about it. Something posh gone to rot. The stools at the bar didn’t match anymore. Most of the many mirrors, put up at some point in a misguided attempt to bring in more space, were cracked.

Jas was starring at him.

“What’s on your face?”

Shit! Will thought, turning his face to the mirror next to them. Nearly giving himself whiplash. Toilet paper, he’d guessed. He’d shaved before coming, but he was tired. Tired he told himself, not nervous. He was tired and had cut himself. A few times. Nothing, he thought moving his face around. Damn crap lighting, what was she seeing?

“I don’t see anything,” he accused, turning, more slowly, back to her.

She pointed at her own eyebrow.

Will’s hand touched the bar in his eyebrow. Shit. He’d forgotten. He really did need to take that thing out, he told himself. “I like it,” he said.

She raised her shoulders, giving him a look of ‘what can I say?’

Will felt like shit. “So, you want a drink or something?”

“Yeah, um. I can get them.”

“No.” Will stated firmly, standing up. “I’ll get them.” After a few steps Will turned back. Jas was chewing on the skin around her thumb nail. “Same?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she smiled at him, sadly.

Screw you, he thought, as his stomach dropped.

“So, what do you want Jasmine?” Will asked, settling a half pint of cider down in front of her. He never called her Jasmine. Had never called her Jasmine.

“Want?” she asked, glass paused halfway between table and her mouth.

“Yeah. Want. Why am I here?”

“I wanted to see you,”

Will waited for a better answer. An answer he could do something with.

“I had heard... I’d heard you weren’t doing that well.”

“You’ve lost weight,” Will threw back at her.

“What!” Jas’ head jolted back in surprise.

“Who told you I wasn’t doing that well? I’m great. I’m doing fabulous.” Fabulous? he thought. “Who said I wasn’t?”

“I’ve lost weight?” Jas drew the words out quietly, looking down at the table. “It doesn’t matter who told me,” she replied looking into his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter to you,” Will muttered, taking a deep drink and looking away. The neon Harp sign behind the bar was on the fritz. It was blinking a little.

Jas reached out her hand, grazing her fingers against Will’s own, wrapped around his glass. She drew back sharply. As if he’d burned her.

Will swallowed. He looked over at her hands. At the fingers that had touched him. “Why does it matter?”

“I love you... loved you,” she emphasized the “d”. Duh.

Will nodded, staring at her hand. “You’ve lost weight,” he stated to her fingers.

“So have you.”

“No.” He shook his head, staring at that hand. “Ten pounds.”

“What?”

“Gained. Ten pounds,” Will said looking up at her. He smiled. Held up his glass. He’d been drinking a lot these last months. It was starting to catch up with him.

She smiled back at him. A curl was coming lose near her right ear. “I’ve lost weight.”

They both took a drink.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“I wanted to see you.”

“You already said that.”

She shrugged. Bit the skin near her nail.

“Don’t,” he said softly, reaching across the table, moving her hand away from her mouth.

“Its gotten worse lately,” she admitted in seeming amazement, staring down at her thumb. “It bled the other day.”

“Its gonna get infected.”

“I clean my hands a lot.”

“It’ll scar.”

“Maybe I’ll get some of that stuff.”

Will had been trying to get her to use this gel that mothers put on their children’s fingers to force them to stop chewing their nails. It tastes awful. Apparently. That was more than a year ago.

The bartender was pulling clean glasses out of the rack and stacking them behind the bar. It wasn’t the old authentic British bartender. Rod was working today. He was about twenty five and from Texas. He was humming a Modest Mouse song, Will couldn’t hear which.

“What have you been reading lately?” Jas asked.

“What?” Will hadn’t been listening. “Reading? Um. Nothing much. Why?”

“I’m just curious. I read this really good book about a guy who was born in Azerbaijan and then lived in Berlin and pretended to be a Muslim, but wasn’t.”

“That’s what it was about?”

“Yeah. Well, sort of, anyway, it was good. A journalist wrote it.”

“Hm.” Will took a drink. This was awkward, maybe he shouldn’t have come. He’d wanted to see her, but maybe it would have been better to stay home. But that would have driven him crazy too. She seemed, somehow... more.... in his head. “I just finished a book about China. Well, it was about the Cultural Revolution and the destruction of distinctive environments, pollution, endangered animals. A little slow, but interesting.”

“China? I didn’t know you were into China.”

“Well, I’m not really, I guess. But it was in the library and it looked good. I saw it, and thought about how you were always on about the environment and pollution and that, I remembered you saying someth...” Will cut off mid word. She was staring at him. Shit. He’d said too much. “I mean, it looked interesting. Anyway, it was. Interesting.”

“You miss me?”

“Jas, seriously. What am I doing here?” He looked at her for a minute, waiting for a response. A reaction. She was staring at his chest, avoiding his face. “Do you miss me?” he continued. “Is that what this is about? You’ve gotta give me something here.”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.” There was a shattering noise. Rod had dropped a glass. Some guy on one of the mismatched stools laughed and clapped. Rod told him to fuck off.