She never told me her last name. I'd meet her at the same rock in Central Park every day about 1:30. Most days, she'd wear purple. How did we meet? I guess I was staring. She came over.

'You like how I look?'�

'Something about you, yes.'�

'Looks fade,'� she said, smiling. 'Get to know me better. I'm Nahid. It means evening star.'�

Since then, I'd been trying. Every lunch hour at that same rock, weather permitting. But after three weeks, she remained a mystery. We'd talked politics and religion. She lacked affiliations, liked controversy and seemed fascinated by celebrity deaths. I had the sense she might be a teacher, but the lithe body suggested expertise in dance or yoga.

'Who are you, Nahid?'� I asked.

'Many people,'� she said. 'Most of them stubborn and all of them difficult.'� She laughed.

'Would you like to go out some evening?'�

'We're already out,'� she said. 'You're kind to ask, but I'm not one you need to know better.'�

'Can I decide that?'�

'You're tenacious,'� she said. 'And horny. I need to know if I can trust you.'�

'Sure.'�

She strolled away, as she always did when our hour came to a close.

Next day she had a small, unmarked envelope.

'I need you to keep this for me.'�

'What is it?'�

'I work for a biochemical conglomerate. It's the prototype of a new drug; a little side project of mine. No one knows.'�

'What's it for?'�

'I can't tell you. Keep it safe these next few weeks. In a cool place, away from direct light.'�

'Okay.'� She handed me the envelope.

'Thanks.'� She gave me a soft kiss. 'You're very sweet.'�

That was the last time I saw her. She never came to the park again. I had no idea how to find her. Further, I still had her drug.

After two weeks, seized by curiosity, I opened her envelope. The tiny purple vial was filled with clear liquid. I wondered if it was something you drank or injected. I put it back.

Next day at work a strange note on my desk said 'Injected.'� It was as if she'd read my thoughts and answered.

It took a few calls to locate a methadone clinic where I could get a needle without much hassle. After dinner, I drank wine until I found the courage to proceed.

Insanity, I thought. I could be killing myself. Some unknown fluid would soon be coursing through my veins, en route to doing something, I didn't know what.

I used a sock to tie off my bicep. I took the needle, broke through the foil, eased it in and carefully withdrew the liquid. This was what she meant by trust. This was the only way to find her again. I found a vein and aimed. Making a wish, I plunged the needle in.


-Copyright 2003 Gary Glauber Originally published in Insolent Rudder.

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