The Alley by Anthony Street.

Contains themes of death and substance use.

"Please, don't do it."

The man startles at my voice, letting the flame from his lighter dissipate. He looks at me as if I'm a ghost, hiding in the shadows of an alley, waiting for my chance to pounce.

When he doesn't answer, his features still filled with confusion, I say, "Don't light it."

This makes him smile, and through the dark, I notice he's missing a tooth. "Have something against cigarettes?"

I shake my head, blonde hair grazing along my shoulders. "I've been clean for years. But if you light it, I might have to steal it from you."

It's not a complete lie. Can you really be clean of something if you were never tainted from it?

It has been years, though. Four years and two months, to be exact. I only smoked for the few weeks I dated that one guy. It's always the boyfriends, isn't it?

The man reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket then holds out his hand, displaying the pack of cigarettes. "No need for that."

I shouldn't. But I do. It's disgusting. Glad to see that hasn't changed over the years.

He watches me smoke, replacing his unlit one in the pack. Carefully, he takes in the one arm that's wrapped tightly around my waist, barely protecting me from the cold. I don't know how he's not shivering. His eyes then move to the hospital band around my wrist.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Jonah."

I snort, earning me a wide-eyed glance from the mysterious man. He's in a suit, and he's observing me like a hawk. His hair is clean, face shaved. If I had to guess, just from the cigarette break and his appearance, he's a lawyer. Of course, I know nothing about lawyers. That assumption could be completely wrong.

"What's so funny about my name?" he questions, slightly apprehensive.

I point across the street to the small brick building. "That's a church, and your name's Jonah."

He looks at the structure, as if seeing it for the first time. On second thought, maybe he's not the observant type.

"You can never tell which building is what in small towns like these," he muses, placing his hands into his pants pockets in fondness.

So he's not from here. I understand what he means, though. The small Town Square is filled with uniform buildings, businesses coming and going every few months. You'd have to be very involved with the community to know whose daughter is opening her shop and when.

I haven't touched my cigarette in a while, but I don't think he notices. I let it hang loose from my fingers, hoping it burns to nothing. "Did your parents name you after the Bible?"

He raises an eyebrow, deep brown hair glowing from the light post not too far away. "Why do you want to know?"

I swallow, then shrug. "I like getting to know people," I answer, but that's not even the half of it.

"It's a sibling J name thing," he sighs. "I don't think my parents knew it was biblical."

With this new information, I scan his body once again. He has siblings, and I imagine his relationship with them. Is he the caring, nurturing type, or does he always come ready with a joke?

Through a tight laugh, I ask, "What's the name Jonah, if not biblical?"

"I take it that you're religious?"

The cigarette finally dies, and I stomp it on the ground. "Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't decided."

Jonah is recalling the details of his life, while I'm telling more half-lies.

There has to be something greater out there. If there isn't, then all of this is for nothing. But I'm not sure if I want it to be a heaven. When life is over, will the good ones be sent to the clouds, blissfully unaware, cursed to forget?

For moments, he doesn't speak, and I'm left dreading the end of his presence. He'll walk away and won't remember the shivering girl in the alley on Anthony Street, but I'll remember him.

I'll remember his name and how he's not from here. How he was born into a group of children whose names all begin with J. His suit and the taste of his newly bought cigarettes.

But thankfully, he nods to my wrist. "What's with the hospital band?"

The clouds made from our breath spread between us, mixing together. He'll have to remember that, how he shared air with me.

I force a laugh. "Nothing good."

Jonah's interest peaks. "Did you run away?"

This time, I scoff. Joking is all I know how to do. "What makes you think that?"

His lips form in a thin line. "You're in an alley, underdressed, bumming cigarettes from me."

"You offered," I retort.

He smiles. "What is it then?"

"You really want to know?" I try to hide the hope in my voice, the need to be seen.

Jonah nods.

I say, "My mother died the other day."

The hum of a car passing by is the only sound for some very long, very tense moments. I hold onto them, nevertheless.

The wheels turn in his head. "You're wearing a hospital band, because your mother died?"

"I'm wearing it, because she didn't want to wear one alone," I explain.

His face flashes with understanding, then confusion once again. "Is that allowed?"

"I don't know. They let me."

Through the dim light, he reads the name on the hospital band. Good. But names are so trivial, he'll most likely forget it by the time he leaves the alley.

"Charlotte," he notes.

"I think she named me that because it's a town in North Carolina," I tell him.

His smile is soft and sympathetic. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's okay. It was a slow disease, so I've been prepared."

Another lie. This man will walk away tonight, only recalling lies, if he remembers me at all.

Jonah pulls the pack from his pocket. "What'd she die from?"

"Dementia."

The flame from his lighter flickers out again, unlit cigarette dangling.

If he remembers one thing, please let it be of the girl who made him hesitate.