FICTION

After Five

Photo by Megan Clark on Unsplash

It was Saturday afternoon. The sun was too strong. Even the wind felt as if it would burn the skin.

I was lying on my bed after lunch, eyes barely open, with my phone and a water bottle within reach.

The phone rang.

Sameer.

“Will you come to my house?” he said.

I pulled the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. It was 2:30.

“What happened?” I said.

“Nothing happened. Just come. We’ll go for a ride.”

“We can go after five. It’s burning outside.”

“Come now,” he said.

When I arrived, his gate was open. A man went inside carrying a sandbag on his head, walking slowly. “Careful,” Sameer said to the man’s back.

Sameer was already on his motorcycle. I put my scooter on its stand and walked over. He wiped a finger across his forehead and flicked his hand toward the road. Tiny beads of sweat hung against the dark hair on his wrist.

He patted the back seat. “Sit first.” His shirt clung to his back when I held his shoulder and climbed on.

He pulled away in the opposite direction from our usual route.

Big trees lined both sides of the street, their branches meeting overhead blocking out the sun. The wind was still hot, but the shade made it bearable.

“I’m going mad inside that house,” he said.

“What happened?”

A black-faced monkey dropped from a branch and stopped in the road. Sameer shouted, hit the horn, and revved the engine. The monkey jumped to the other side of the street. A few others followed behind it.

He pulled up to a small roadside cabin. Inside, an old man waved a cloth in circles to fan himself.

“Do you want a drink?” Sameer asked.

I shook my head. He bought a cold can, opened it, and brought it to his mouth.

“I took money from my father-in-law for the house repairs,” he said, looking down the road. He took a sip. “Take some,” he said, holding the can toward me.

“No,” I said.

The old man asked us to sit on the broken bench outside. I sat. Sameer stayed standing on the dirt.

“The work is almost done. Now my mother says she’ll keep all the rent money after we rent out the house. I have to pay back my father-in-law.”

“Talk to your mother,” I said.

He ran a hand through his wet hair and held the can toward me again. “Take a sip.”

“No,” I said. I stood, took out my wallet, and held a note toward the old man.

“I’ll pay. Don’t take from him,” Sameer said loudly, looking at the old man.

“Take it,” I said to the old man. The old man laughed, his teeth white in the dark of the cabin. He took the note and handed me the change.

I sat back down. Sameer took another sip.

“My mother won’t give me anything,” he said. “My father puts all his pension into the farm. I don’t expect anything from him.” He finished the drink and crushed the can in his fist and dropped it near his foot.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to your wife,” I said.

“She knows.”

He looked at me, then at his motorcycle. “You drive. Take me to the sea.” He walked toward the bike.

I took the driver’s seat. He sat behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the heat of it through my shirt.

The branches above us were gone now. The sun came down hard, and the wind from the ocean was hot.

“Will you help me with some money?” he said. His voice thinned in the breeze.

“What?” I turned my head a little.

“Will you give me some money?” he said, louder.

I kept my eyes on the road. I didn’t speak for a moment.

“I don’t have enough right now,” I said. “When we get back, I’ll talk to your mother.”

“No,” he said.

Neither of us spoke after that. He took his hand off my shoulder.

When we reached the sea, I parked near a small bridge. The sun sat low and orange over the water. The wind hadn’t cooled.

He walked to a bench on the sand, facing the water. He touched the seat with his palm before sitting. I stood on the sand beside him.

The waves broke at the shore. The wind kept blowing.

“I forgot to buy cigarettes,” he said. He walked toward the water and stopped on the wet sand. I sat on the bench behind him.