At First Bite


The wind whirled around me, tossing fallen leaves as red as blood up into a swirling dance like a miniature tornado. Most people passing by shivered and tightened the collars on their coats, pulled their hats further down their faces, or cuddled closer to the companion they were walking along side of, but I personally liked the cold. Autumn was in fact my favourite season. According to my mom this was because I was born in the fall. She, who was born in the spring, preferred spring and the brand new flower buds fighting their way to see the light of day. She even enjoyed the spring rain. This gave her the idea behind her theory that we all prefer the season we were born in. I have yet to prove or disprove this theory, but I myself am skeptical of the whole thing.

I was so lost in thought that I almost passed the door of the cafe I was heading to. One of my favourite places in the world, it was in an old building in the heart of the small town I had moved to after graduating with a degree in english literature. The floors were nothing but old, heavy, worn out planks of wood that creaked with every slight movement, which was a sound so familiar and comforting that I had grown to love it. The walls, painted a bright wine red, were covered in interesting artwork done by some of the most talented locals. The lighting was dim and cozy, setting the perfect mood for this mild fall day.
Sitting down in my usual booth in the front corner of the cafe, I realized how relieved I was to be in a familiar place. I had recently acquired a new job writing for a financial magazine, which was not my genre of preference. I was a fiction writer and often found myself writing stories with the slightest of ease. I would sit down with a blank document shining brightly from my laptop in front of me, and just write. Without even thinking, stories would pour out of me like a waterfall surging towards the earth's surface, my fingers tiny dancers tapping on the keys. This was a talent I was extremely grateful for, and was a gift from my father who before he died had been a very successful children's writer. I guess the old saying, "like father, like son," as cheesy as it may be, was true after all. I often thought that the secrets to life were hidden behind the word cliché, perhaps explaining why I was considered to be more on the sensitive side. I was a firm believer in the idea of grand gestures, and always being a gentleman. I held doors open, used proper table manners, and when out at a fancy restaurant I never failed to pull out my dates chair.

From across the room my eyes met with Miranda's, my usual waitress. We exchanged a smile and she made her way to my table. "Hey Tom, the usual?" she asked, the smile never leaving her face. She was a very sweet girl with a cute face and long auburn hair. I would have asked her out ages ago if it weren't for her fiancé of 3 years.
"I love that I have a usual," I replied with a laugh and added, "Cheer's really nailed that one." I began to hum the chorus to the theme song. Miranda and I both laughed as she fussed at her hair, tucking stray strands back in place.
"Are you meeting someone?" she asked.
"Yeah she should be here soon." I said, and with that she was on her way.

Most people don't feel comfortable sitting in public places by themselves. They pull out their cell phones and try to make it look like they're doing something important, or pretend to look really intrigued by a piece of writing, even if it is just a menu. I on the other hand never understood why people always felt the need to try and mask the fact that they were sitting by themselves. Never once have I walked past someone eating in a restaurant by themselves and thought, "Man look at that guy with no one sitting across from him, what a loser," so why do people always think that's what other people are going to think about them? One of my favourite things to do was people watch. When I found myself waiting for someone to come meet me or just happened to be out for some time to myself, I always watched the people passing by, everyone always in a hurry to get to the next place, no one living in the moment, always thinking ahead.

It was then that I noticed a girl standing half way through the door to the cafe, an apprehensive look on her face. She hesitated and glanced around the cafe before fully releasing the door and letting it gently shut behind her. There has never been a time in my life when I was struck so suddenly by someone passing by. I found myself so intrigued that I couldn't seem to take my eyes off of her. Her walk was as graceful as a dancer as she made her way over to the front counter, the perfect curls of her long chestnut hair gently tossing from side to side. She was talking to Miranda who was busy adjusting the desserts in the display case, and I watched as Miranda looked up and shrugged her shoulders. The girl turned around, a look of slight confusion invading her face. I must have been starring pretty intensely because when her eyes met with mine she held our gaze, and began walking over to me. Without even thinking about it I nervously cleared my throat and smoothed out my hair, like a boy in high school preparing to ask a girl to prom. I hoped she hadn't seen me do it. I realized I hadn't gotten this nervous since I was a teenager. To be honest, over the past few years I'd become quite the womanizer and it was rare for me to feel so intimidated.

When she got to my table she seemed to lose all the confidence she had built up while walking over to me. She looked down at the ground and asked, "Are you Robbie?"
"No," I replied, "I'm Tom." I smiled and stuck out my hand. She lightly grasped it and I shook it up and down. I was taken aback by how cold her hand was.
"Sorry, I was supposed to be meeting someone here. I guess he didn't show. Typical right? You find a guy who you really like, he makes you believe he likes you too and then he dips the first chance he gets," she said with a shy yet bitter laugh.
“Ugh yeah, men can be such pigs sometimes,” I rolled my eyes and we both laughed.
“Do you mind if I sit here with you for a bit? Just until he gets here I mean. I hate sitting by myself,” she flashed a charming smile and looked up at me through her eyelashes. I was instantly dazzled by her eyes. What I had originally thought had been dark brown, now appeared a bright red in the beam of sunlight shining through the window. Her eyes were stunning, and they sparkled like flecks of gold scattered in a sea of blood.
I couldn’t help but blurt out in a dragged out whisper, “Oh my god,” my eyes wide and looking into hers.
“What?” she asked while tilting her head in confusion. She looked like she was getting self conscious.
“Oh no, sorry! It’s just your eyes! They look red.”
“Oh,” she laughed quietly and looked down, “Yeah, birth defect or something. So are you supposed to be meeting someone here?” She pulled out the chair across from me and sat down, dropping her purse on the ground beside our table.
“Yeah she was supposed to meet me here 20 minutes ago,” I looked out the window and scanned the street for any sight of her. “But it looks like she isn’t showing.”
“Man look at both of us, sitting here, stood up. And now we’ve found each other.” She smiled. Her skin was so pale; she looked like all the blood had been drained from her face. It contrasted beautifully with her long dark hair and ruby eyes.

A cell phone started to ring and we both looked in the direction it was coming from. As she reached down to pick up her purse, I realized that’s where the ring was coming from. She swiftly stuck her hand in the bag and jabbed at the buttons to stop the ringing.
“That’s funny,” I said, “My girlfriend has the same ringtone. When I heard it I thought maybe she’d finally gotten here,” I laughed and she joined in.
“Popular ringtone I guess.”

We spent the next hour and a half sharing stories and getting to know one another. I went through endless cups of coffee, her lips never touching the brim of her now cold mug sitting in front of her. She rarely talked about herself, the conversation always seeming to deflect back to me. I admired the mystery behind her. One thing I did learn about her was that she had an October birthday, and her favourite season was fall. It was at that point that I decided to invite her back to my place. I found an old receipt from my wallet and using a pen I borrowed from Miranda I scratched out a note and left it on the table. It read, “Julia, she was born in October and her favourite season’s autumn. Hope you understand. –Tom”

We both stood up from our table and I made my way over to the counter to pay for our bill. Miranda looked shocked when she saw who was standing behind me.
“Julia didn’t show?”
“No,” I said. I grabbed my change and turned to the door.

We decide to walk back to my apartment the long way, as it was more scenic and a perfect route for this crisp fall day. She didn’t hold my hand, and kept a slight distance between us. She was wearing only a thin spring coat; however she didn’t appear to be bothered by the cold at all.

When we got back to my apartment I offered her a drink to which she declined. We sat down on my couch and continued talking as we had in the restaurant. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for what I had done to Julia so I pulled out my cell phone and punched in her number. I mouthed, “Sorry,” to the girl. I held the phone up to my ear and listened while it rang. Her purse which she had placed on the small oak table beside my couch began to ring, my girlfriend Julia’s ringtone. My eyebrows creased in confusion as a wicked smile slowly grew on her face.
“Looks like you don’t have to worry about her anymore,” she said. I dropped the phone and my eyes widened as I finally put two and two together.
My jaw dropped and I managed to mutter, “Oh my go-” before she leaned in close and sank her razor sharp teeth into the base of my throat.