record player. During that time she mostly asked me about college and my life in Tokyo. Nothing too terribly interesting. About the experiments where we used cats (of course we don’t kill them, I told her. mostly just psychological experiments, I said. However, in truth, in eleven months I killed thirty-six cats, large and small.), and the demonstrations and strikes. Then I showed her the scar from when the riot policeman knocked out my front tooth.
“You ever wanna get him back?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Why not? If I were you, I’d find him and knock out a few of his teeth with a hammer.”
“Well, I’m me, and it’s the past now, for everybody involved. More importantly, all those guys looked the same, so there’s no way I’d ever find him.”
“So you’re saying there was no reason for any of it?”
“Reason?”
“The reason for going so far as to get your tooth knocked in.”
“None.”
She grunted boredly and took a bite of her beef stew.
We drank our after-dinner coffee, washed and stacked the dishes in her tiny kitchen, then went back to the table and lit cigarettes as we listened to Modern Jazz Quartet.
Her shirt was so thin I could clearly make out the shape of her nipples, her cotton pants hung comfortably around her hips, and as an added bonus our feet kept bumping underneath the table. When this happened, I would blush a little.
“Was it good?”
“It was great.”
She bit lightly on her lower lip.
“Why don’t you ever say anything unless you’re answering a question?”
“Just a habit, I guess. I’m always forgetting to say important things.”
“Can I give you some advice?”
“Go ahead.”
“If you don’t fix that, it’ll end up costing you.”
“You’re probably right. Still, it’s like a junky car. If I fix one thing, it’ll be easier to notice something else that’s broken.”
She laughed and changed the record to Marvin Gaye. The hour hand was almost pointing to eight.
“Is it okay if you don’t polish the shoes tonight?”
“I polish them at night. Same time I polish my teeth.”
She rested both of her skinny elbows on the table, then with her chin resting pleasantly on top of them, she sneaked peeks at me as we talked. This made me pretty flustered. I pretended to look out the window as I lit a cigarette, constantly trying to avert her gaze, but then she gave me an extra-strange look.
“Hey, I believe you.”
“Believe what?”
“That you didn’t do anything to me that night.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You really wanna hear it?”
“No,” I said.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” she laughed and poured wine into my glass, then looked out the dark window as if thinking about something.
“Sometimes I think it would be wonderful if I could live without getting in anyone else’s way. You think it’s possible?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Am I getting in your way?”
“You’re okay.”
“This time?”
“This time.”
She gently reached her hand across the table and set it on my own, and after leaving it there for a while, she drew it back.
“I’m going on a trip tomorrow.”
“Where you going?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to go somewhere quiet and cool, for about a week.”
I nodded.
“I’ll call you when I get back.”
* * *
On my way home, sitting in my car, I was suddenly reminded of the first girl I ever went on a date with. It was seven years before.
The whole time we were on this date, from beginning to end, I feel like I kept asking, ‘Hey, isn’t this boring?’ over and over.
We went to see a movie starring Elvis Presley. The theme song went something like this:
We had a quarrel, a lovers spat
I write I’m sorry but my letter keeps coming back So then I dropped it in the mailbox
And sent it special D
Bright in early next morning
It came right back to me
She wrote upon it:
Return to sender, address unknown.
Time flows pretty quickly.
23
The third girl I
“You ever wanna get him back?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Why not? If I were you, I’d find him and knock out a few of his teeth with a hammer.”
“Well, I’m me, and it’s the past now, for everybody involved. More importantly, all those guys looked the same, so there’s no way I’d ever find him.”
“So you’re saying there was no reason for any of it?”
“Reason?”
“The reason for going so far as to get your tooth knocked in.”
“None.”
She grunted boredly and took a bite of her beef stew.
We drank our after-dinner coffee, washed and stacked the dishes in her tiny kitchen, then went back to the table and lit cigarettes as we listened to Modern Jazz Quartet.
Her shirt was so thin I could clearly make out the shape of her nipples, her cotton pants hung comfortably around her hips, and as an added bonus our feet kept bumping underneath the table. When this happened, I would blush a little.
“Was it good?”
“It was great.”
She bit lightly on her lower lip.
“Why don’t you ever say anything unless you’re answering a question?”
“Just a habit, I guess. I’m always forgetting to say important things.”
“Can I give you some advice?”
“Go ahead.”
“If you don’t fix that, it’ll end up costing you.”
“You’re probably right. Still, it’s like a junky car. If I fix one thing, it’ll be easier to notice something else that’s broken.”
She laughed and changed the record to Marvin Gaye. The hour hand was almost pointing to eight.
“Is it okay if you don’t polish the shoes tonight?”
“I polish them at night. Same time I polish my teeth.”
She rested both of her skinny elbows on the table, then with her chin resting pleasantly on top of them, she sneaked peeks at me as we talked. This made me pretty flustered. I pretended to look out the window as I lit a cigarette, constantly trying to avert her gaze, but then she gave me an extra-strange look.
“Hey, I believe you.”
“Believe what?”
“That you didn’t do anything to me that night.”
“What makes you think so?”
“You really wanna hear it?”
“No,” I said.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” she laughed and poured wine into my glass, then looked out the dark window as if thinking about something.
“Sometimes I think it would be wonderful if I could live without getting in anyone else’s way. You think it’s possible?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Am I getting in your way?”
“You’re okay.”
“This time?”
“This time.”
She gently reached her hand across the table and set it on my own, and after leaving it there for a while, she drew it back.
“I’m going on a trip tomorrow.”
“Where you going?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to go somewhere quiet and cool, for about a week.”
I nodded.
“I’ll call you when I get back.”
* * *
On my way home, sitting in my car, I was suddenly reminded of the first girl I ever went on a date with. It was seven years before.
The whole time we were on this date, from beginning to end, I feel like I kept asking, ‘Hey, isn’t this boring?’ over and over.
We went to see a movie starring Elvis Presley. The theme song went something like this:
We had a quarrel, a lovers spat
I write I’m sorry but my letter keeps coming back So then I dropped it in the mailbox
And sent it special D
Bright in early next morning
It came right back to me
She wrote upon it:
Return to sender, address unknown.
Time flows pretty quickly.
23
The third girl I
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