Free Pass It On by J. Minter

thought.
    â€œThis scene is intense,” I said.
    And Ruth nodded. She grabbed my hand. Shewas wearing tall pointy boots and a miniskirt and a shredded leather jacket with a bright orange shirt underneath that had a high collar. Her honey-colored hair was down and flowing.
    â€œDo you live here?” I asked.
    â€œNo—I live in this old loft in Nolita with my parents, on Mulberry Street across from Saint Valentine’s. But I’m here all the time. I worked at the Bell Café last summer, but I still like to hang out there even when I’m not working.”
    â€œThat’s cool,” I said.
    We got to the Bell Café and went to the back garden, even though it was cold back there. They had a bench with a stone table in front of it and she nestled close to me. The sun was low, but it found its way to us through the scraggly trees.
    â€œWhat about you—where do you live?”
    â€œI live with my mom, but she’s away right now. So I’m staying with my friends.”
    â€œI met them the other night.”
    â€œWell, you met two. There are two more.”
    â€œFive of you.”
    â€œExcept one of us is Patch and he’s never really around.”
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œHe’s lost.”
    She smiled. And then we were kissing on the bench. And I was happily alone with her. Or we were alone together. Or it didn’t matter. I’d met a girl at a party who I’d already had electricity with on the street so it felt like fate, and we’d clicked against all odds of that happening, and now we were kissing and I wanted to never be with anybody else again but her.
    â€œI don’t know what it is,” she said.
    â€œYeah.”
    We stayed there until it was pretty dark, huddled together in the back of that café. Music came from inside, Velvet Underground, and it was like the whole feel of being with her, warm and trusting and extremely cool. She made me feel good, so good I had completely forgotten about all the trouble with my dad, and all the trouble I sensed was somehow brewing with my guys. After a while though, she said she had to get home to hang out with her parents before going out with her friends. And I had to get back to Arno’s.
    â€œWhen can I see you again?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said. And she was suddenly uncertain. Now that it was dark it was kind of cold, so we stepped inside the Bell, where they were transitioning from daytime coffee spot tonighttime bar. I tried to keep looking at her eyes, but she was looking around.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLet’s not schedule anything. Let’s just talk later, okay?” Her voice was so imperfect, and I just can’t say enough about it—what a relief that single imperfection was. I took up her honey-colored hair, touched her neck, and kissed her once, slowly.
    â€œOkay,” I said.

dinner with the wildenburgers
    Patch’s parents, Frederick and Fiona Flood, were at Arno’s for dinner, along with a completely nondescript pair of Arno’s dad’s business friends. Arno sat and drank wine with them in the living room. Everyone was on two couches, facing each other, except for Arno’s dad, who remained standing. Arno knew his father liked it when people had to look up at him.
    It was Tuesday night and Arno was enjoying himself, getting a little buzzed on the wine and vaguely following the gossip his parents so enjoyed exchanging. He didn’t tell a lot of people about it, but he kind of got a kick out of hanging out with his parents. This was never true when they were alone, because then their relationship showed too much wear, but with other people, they put on a good show. Right then they were talking about their escapades in Florida.
    â€œAnd when the maid caught us in the pool, in our birthday suits no less, she sang us a song! Isn’t that fun?” Alec asked.
    â€œLord, Alec. She was praying,” his wife