There was one other seated booth. A couple, with coats on over pajama bottoms, sharing a plate of diner hash browns. They were happy. They were tired all over, tangled, greasy, exhausted everywhere but their eyes. Their eyes were awake, the energy ricocheting between them over their plate. Their eyes were alive and full. It was 4 a.m.

“I never liked her name,” I said.

“Yeah?” Nate was sitting across from me. He’s a good friend. He hadn’t touched his coffee. He probably still had plans for sleep at some point.

“Allie. I never liked it.”

“I guess you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Nate said. It came out like a joke, but I knew that’s not what how he meant it so I ignored it. A lot can be ignored at 4 a.m. “What made you think of that?” he asked.

“They were calling her Alyssa tonight. She never let me call her that.”

Nate said nothing.

“She said that’s what Joe used to call her and I didn’t like her thinking of Joe.”

“So you called her Allie.”

“Yeah, and I never really liked it. I had half a mind to tell them that she wouldn’t

like them calling her Allie, putting it on all the paperwork, but I didn’t think it was relevant.”

 “Probably wasn’t. Probably a lot of things don’t seem relevant now.”

I had already told Nate what happened and there wasn’t a lot else to say. There wasn’t a lot else to do, for that matter. My hands held the cup of coffee. I stirred it, sipped it, but didn’t really taste it. I wished I had something to do with my hands. I wished that there was somewhere else to go at 4 am, that there was something else to do. The pajama couple walked to the cashstand to pay. The boy had to let go of the girl’s hand so he could fish for his wallet in a coatpocket.

“I thought of the strangest things, Nate.”

“That’s normal. It’s a strange thing to begin with.”

“No, like really strange things. They sat me in a room for a half hour while they

did the paperwork in the room next door. It gave me time to think.”

“They just left you alone?” Nate wanted something to do with his hands too. He

stirred his coffee.

“Yeah. My left hand was handcuffed to the chair.”

“I see.”

I laughed. I wanted Nate to ask why I laughed, but he just stared at his coffee, so I answered without him laughing.

“Kind of funny. I bit all the nails on my right hand because the left was cuffed to the chair. Every nail. Look.” I don’t know why I showed him, maybe to prove I wasn’t lying. He looked at them and then at his own hands.

“I kept biting. I bit hard and deep until there was blood. And here’s the strange thing – I was worried the police officer was going to think that it was her blood. You know, that I hit her more than once and there was blood on my hands. He had asked me already to see my hands. I guess that’s how they check.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, so I was worried he’d see the blood so I sucked the blood out of the

crevices of my fingers.”

The waitress cleared the table where the couple sat and eyed our coffees to see if we needed refills. We didn’t.

“Nate. When I sucked the blood out, I could taste her.”

There was nothing Nate could say.

“I could taste her. How intense, beautiful, tragic, disgusting is that?” I knew Nate couldn’t answer. “After the blood, the snot, the tears, to taste her.” It had to tell someone that. Nate’s a good friend.

I wanted something to do with my hands, so I started biting the nail of my left thumb. Nate looked at me, right at me for maybe the first time since we met outside the police station.

“You should quit biting your nails,” he said. “It’s a bad habit.” This time Nate was trying to make a joke, so I laughed.

“I know. Allie used to tell me that too. I told her that if I quit biting my nails, I’d be perfect, and nobody’s perfect. And then I did that thing with my shoulders and palms and the corners of my mouth that always made her laugh. She used to laugh so hard.” I smiled, so Nate smiled.

“Allie wasn’t perfect,” Nate said. “Nobody’s perfect.” He was looking at me again.

I nodded. “Nobody’s perfect. I never liked her name.”