Page 12 of Traces of Her

I don’t know who or what Charlie’s even is.

I give her a slow nod with a small smile.

“Cool,” she says, smiling back. “You can just walk there with us then.”

“Cool,” I repeat, falling in step beside her, following after her group of friends ahead of us.

She looks over at me, “I’m Scarlet, by the way.”

“Rowena,” I say, quietly, my tongue feels thick trying to speak my name.

“Cool name,” she smiles. “What about Ro?” she asks. “You know, when you’re drunk and shit, the shorter the name, the easier.” She shrugs and smiles.

I slow down a bit, thinking it over. I’ve spent the last few years with an array of names. What’s one more? “Either one’s cool.” I shrug indifferently.

“Sweet,” she says, nodding ahead. “Let’s catch up with them. My boyfriend’s probably at Charlie’s already and he gets pissed if I’m late.”

Blindly, I follow Scarlet and her friends to Charlie’s as if I’m a part of their group. But, I’m not. I’m an outsider. I don’t know where I fit in in this world, or where I belong. But I’m good at what I do. I’m a chameleon, I’m a ghost. I can blend in where I need to and I can disappear when I need to.

As we walk down a shady street, we come to a stop in front of a house with chipped grey siding and a front porch that’s falling apart. The house is dark but loud music from inside seeps through the cracks around the windows. Scarlet looks over at me as the others start to walk up the broken steps, carefully dodging the holes in the floor.

She holds out her hand, gesturing toward the boarded up, run down looking house.

“Welcome to Charlie’s,” she smiles.