“I don’t like this,” I said. “Not at all.” I left him standing there and waited for him downstairs and outside. To my right was another pier, but without a warehouse, just row after row of blackened beams. And there were people, a few men in jeans, some drag queens. Some had on the slightest of clothes, some were bare-chested, booted, jeans torn through. But I was the one who felt empty, filling up with loss. I couldn’t help thinking how in just a short time the city had separated Metro and me. First by the hours of our work, our lovemaking when everyone else was taking the morning subway. Then by the things we saw each day: I had lofts and mirrors and leotards and dance barres bending me one-two-three, one-two-three, and opening my thighs in deep pliés. Metro had the police files, the city morgue, night court, three-alarm fires, subway muggings, and obituaries. The lines of his face were becoming tracks of frayed nerves and sleepless nights, even after making love, and we were withdrawing to separate sides of the bed, the tiny bedroom, the three-room apartment, and finally the street.

He asked me to meet him there once again after work. It was early, early morning. The place was still dark as if morning had changed its mind or had merely taken flight at what it saw. I was scared. When I found Metro and held him close, away from the loose beams and crumbling floorboards, I didn’t suspect it would be the last time I’d see him alive. I can still feel the splinters in my skin.

“That’s still not all,” said Rooms, watching me more closely than before.

“What do you mean?” I tried to look away. Her eyes found mine. We watched each other cautiously, then with care.

“You made it to class all right,” she said. “And we danced. Remember?”

“Yes, we danced.”

The police said they were investigating the attack. They had a few leads. “It wasn’t just an attack,” I argued. “It was murder.” They had notified Metro’s family who had his body shipped to Louisiana. I didn’t go to the funeral. I stayed inside where I was. The night they buried him, I took the #1 train downtown and walked to the pier. I was too afraid and ashamed to go further. And he was all I could think about.

Metro wasn’t even his real name. I just called him that.

Now the emptiness in my chest whistled with his name and mine. But what about Rooms?

Rooms, where I tried to lose myself