Death feels so proud that she’s finally allowed in the liquor aisle that she’s lost in thought when she fumbles and drops a bottle of merlot in the middle of it.
Her face goes red as the wine as she apologizes over and over to the worker mopping it up, who tells her over and over again that it’s alright.
Death goes to grab paper towels from the bathroom but the mess is gone before she can help.
She sheepishly goes back and grabs another bottle of the same merlot, with both hands this time.
Death forgot to pay her water bill so the utility company cut her off the grid for the month, so now she has to walk to her home two miles from the laundromat.
When she first moved into her apartment she got these huge houseplants she saw in her interior magazine’s catalog.
The leaves of the pothos hanging from the ceiling wilted and scattered across the living room and she still hasn’t had the time to vacuum.
Maybe watering them more would help.
She rummages around her dinky closet and picks out a little black dress to match with her kitten heels and her bag.
She ties her hair back so it’s not in her way, pops in two sticks of cherry flavored gum, and crams the entire bottle of wine into her carry bag. She puts on a little bit of eyeshadow to bring out the gray in her eyes. She doesn’t bother with full-face makeup anymore.
On her way downtown a creep catcalls her from a window. She gives him a death glare and a middle finger.
Death hasn’t been on a date in years so things are awkward. Or they would be if she had to talk. Luckily for her the date’s doing the lion’s share of that. She thinks his name is Doug but isn’t sure. Maybe she should excuse herself to the bathroom and check on her phone. He’s telling a story about a lawsuit he won. Death smiles politely and stirs her sweet tea with her straw.
“How about you? What do you do for a living?” Maybe-Doug asks.
“Oh,” Death says, caught off guard. “It’s complicated. I don’t work for anyone else.”
“So you do freelance?”
“You could say that.” Death smiles.
Doug smiles back. Death likes his smile. “I’ve tried freelance before I was a lawyer. I did music.”
This guy’s full of surprises, Death thinks. “Really? I didn’t take you for the artsy type.”
“I loved music all my life. When I was a little kid I used to make my own instruments out of trash. I used rubber bands and cardboard to make this shitty little guitar before I could afford my own. I wrote these stupid little songs for it that I probably still have lying around somewhere.” Doug’s eyes light up with nostalgia. “But music didn’t pay the bills, so I went to law school.”
“Wow. Just like that?”
“I mean, yeah. Music is fun, but law keeps the lights on.”
Death takes a sip from her straw and stares at her reflection in her tea. She thinks for a minute before looking into Doug’s eyes. “I think you’re stupid.”
Doug blinks. “Excuse me?”
“I think you’re stupid. Life’s too short to not chase what you love.”
Doug laughs. “You really believe that? I think life’s too short to be homeless.”
Death puts her hands on the sides of the table and leans in like a hawk. “Do you love music?”
“... What?”
“Do you love music? When you sleep, eat, talk, are you thinking about music? Do you love it so much that you can’t live without it?”
Doug thinks for a minute. “Yeah.”
“Then you can make it.” Death says, matter of fact.
Doug sits there dazed. “I’ve never met a girl like you.”
Death grins. “I get that a lot.”
Later Doug – who’s name she confirmed when he signed the check – walks Death home, even though she insisted she could have gone by herself. Death walks on the sidewalk and Doug walks on the road so they’re at eye level.
In the post-sunset hour the city is calm, with small pockets of life bubbling out at low story windows for them to see. At one window a man and a woman sit opposite each other enjoying dinner in a room with an egregious number of cat paintings. In another a little boy plays with a labrador retriever puppy while an old man sits in a rocking chair reading a newspaper. Eventually they reach Death’s apartment.
Doug looks at Death and smiles. “Well, I had fun tonight.”
“I did too.” Death drinks in his smile. It’s infectious.
“I’d love to spend more time with you sometime.”
“I’d like that too.”
“Wh-” and in that second Doug is devoured by a gray monster ten miles and 0.15% over the legal limit.
Death steps down onto the road and squats by Doug’s body, shaken.
“I.. oh my god... I… I’m sorry, Doug.” She didn’t think it would happen so soon. A part of her hoped maybe, just maybe, this time, it wouldn’t happen at all. Her eyes sting as tears stream down her face.
“I’m so sorry.”