face.
I would have preferred to stay there, my chin to his shoulder, until one of us died, but Jack put his hands on the tops of my arms, as if steadying a very drunk or mentally retarded person, and gently pushed me back to my side of the tire.
“What was that, are you okay?”
I forced a laugh. “Totally fine,” I lied. My chin hurt so bad I thought I might start to cry; I quickly took a sip of gin, trying to obliterate the pain before it spread.
“I’ve never seen anyone fall over like that,” he said. He took the bottle when I was finished. “You’re cuter when you don’t move around so much.”
My arms remembered where Jack’s hands had been. I wondered why he had come over, and when we would get to the next part, the next scene in our paperback romance.
Why do you always miss everything
, I thought.
Why can’t you ever be happy in the moment, instead of looking backward or forward?
“Guess what?” Jack said.
“What?”
“I won a motorcycle.”
“You won a motorcycle?”
“I was a finalist. I just have to go somewhere and wait for them to call my number.”
That wasn’t the same as winning, of course, but I wasn’t about to tell him so, because I had just fallen over, and also because there was a teenage girl inside of me who was sure he was trying to impress me with his luck.
We spun in a circle, staring at the juncture of our knees. The leafy branches trembled.
“Where do you have to go?”
“When?”
“To get the motorcycle?”
“The Excelsior.”
“Is that a part of Medieval Times?”
“No, it’s a strip club,” he said. “It’s on the south side. Do you want to come? Jocelyn won’t.”
“When? Tonight?”
“We should probably leave in a few minutes.”
I imagined driving to the city with him, watching the lights of the skyline appear like a new constellation on the eastern horizon. I imagined topless women. Topless women doing cocaine in the dressing room. Topless women doing cocaine in the dressing room with Jack while I was in the bathroom. Topless women doing cocaine in the dressing room with Jack while I was in the bathroom and thenhaving sex with him for free because they would find him so dangerously attractive and because they would want revenge on their asshole boyfriends. Then, like some kind of pervert, I imagined May. I imagined her baby dinosaur face. I didn’t see how I could go to a strip club one minute, and Sesame Street the next.
“Won’t Pickle go with you?”
“He’s working tonight. And anyway, you’re more fun. And less retarded.”
I let the compliment dangle there for a minute, like a sparkly dreamcatcher. It didn’t register immediately that I was his third choice.
“I wish I could,” I finally said, “but I have to babysit in the morning. It’s only my second day.”
“That’s bogus,” Jack said, but didn’t beg me. If he’d have begged, I might have changed my mind.
We both climbed out of the tire. He didn’t hold my arms this time.
“I think I need an ice pack for my face.”
Jack smiled in the crooked way of those up to no good. “You’re pretty adorable for a Jew,” he said, before walking back to his car, leaving me to stand there alone in the moonlight, wondering if I should have followed, until I heard the engine start, and fade away down the street.
WELTSCHMERZ
The littlest panda puts on a cloche hat and climbs inside the armoire in which she found it. She can hear her brother running in the hallway, opening every door. She knows she has found the best hiding place and does a little dance. Then she touches the hat in the darkness, imagining how beautiful she must look.
If only there were a mirror!
she thinks. She knows where there is one, and is tempted to leave the armoire, but she also knows that if she leaves her brother will find her.
Little does she know that her brother has given up the game. He doesn’t want to play anymore; he wants to go downstairs and make a veggie burger, and then maybe go
I would have preferred to stay there, my chin to his shoulder, until one of us died, but Jack put his hands on the tops of my arms, as if steadying a very drunk or mentally retarded person, and gently pushed me back to my side of the tire.
“What was that, are you okay?”
I forced a laugh. “Totally fine,” I lied. My chin hurt so bad I thought I might start to cry; I quickly took a sip of gin, trying to obliterate the pain before it spread.
“I’ve never seen anyone fall over like that,” he said. He took the bottle when I was finished. “You’re cuter when you don’t move around so much.”
My arms remembered where Jack’s hands had been. I wondered why he had come over, and when we would get to the next part, the next scene in our paperback romance.
Why do you always miss everything
, I thought.
Why can’t you ever be happy in the moment, instead of looking backward or forward?
“Guess what?” Jack said.
“What?”
“I won a motorcycle.”
“You won a motorcycle?”
“I was a finalist. I just have to go somewhere and wait for them to call my number.”
That wasn’t the same as winning, of course, but I wasn’t about to tell him so, because I had just fallen over, and also because there was a teenage girl inside of me who was sure he was trying to impress me with his luck.
We spun in a circle, staring at the juncture of our knees. The leafy branches trembled.
“Where do you have to go?”
“When?”
“To get the motorcycle?”
“The Excelsior.”
“Is that a part of Medieval Times?”
“No, it’s a strip club,” he said. “It’s on the south side. Do you want to come? Jocelyn won’t.”
“When? Tonight?”
“We should probably leave in a few minutes.”
I imagined driving to the city with him, watching the lights of the skyline appear like a new constellation on the eastern horizon. I imagined topless women. Topless women doing cocaine in the dressing room. Topless women doing cocaine in the dressing room with Jack while I was in the bathroom. Topless women doing cocaine in the dressing room with Jack while I was in the bathroom and thenhaving sex with him for free because they would find him so dangerously attractive and because they would want revenge on their asshole boyfriends. Then, like some kind of pervert, I imagined May. I imagined her baby dinosaur face. I didn’t see how I could go to a strip club one minute, and Sesame Street the next.
“Won’t Pickle go with you?”
“He’s working tonight. And anyway, you’re more fun. And less retarded.”
I let the compliment dangle there for a minute, like a sparkly dreamcatcher. It didn’t register immediately that I was his third choice.
“I wish I could,” I finally said, “but I have to babysit in the morning. It’s only my second day.”
“That’s bogus,” Jack said, but didn’t beg me. If he’d have begged, I might have changed my mind.
We both climbed out of the tire. He didn’t hold my arms this time.
“I think I need an ice pack for my face.”
Jack smiled in the crooked way of those up to no good. “You’re pretty adorable for a Jew,” he said, before walking back to his car, leaving me to stand there alone in the moonlight, wondering if I should have followed, until I heard the engine start, and fade away down the street.
WELTSCHMERZ
The littlest panda puts on a cloche hat and climbs inside the armoire in which she found it. She can hear her brother running in the hallway, opening every door. She knows she has found the best hiding place and does a little dance. Then she touches the hat in the darkness, imagining how beautiful she must look.
If only there were a mirror!
she thinks. She knows where there is one, and is tempted to leave the armoire, but she also knows that if she leaves her brother will find her.
Little does she know that her brother has given up the game. He doesn’t want to play anymore; he wants to go downstairs and make a veggie burger, and then maybe go
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