The Rest is Silence by Scott Fotheringham Page B

paper of his own. She knocked.
    â€œStudying?”
    â€œDaydreaming, actually. Come in.”
    She strode over to his desk with her left hand outstretched.
    â€œI’m Benny.”
    He was staring when he reached across to shake her hand, stood partially, and struck his knee on the corner of the desk.
    â€œShit!” he said, plopping back down in the wooden chair.
    He was bent over with his right hand on his left knee. For some reason he continued to hold her hand as though they were playing Twister. He was grimacing.
    â€œYou look like a pretzel. Here, have your hand back.”
    She let go and he put his hand on top of the one that was already on his knee.
    â€œI’m Leroy.”
    Shadows cast by the light on his desk hid his eyes but emphasized the pronounced cheekbones jutting below them. He was trying to smile.
    â€œYou look so tall hovering over me,” he said.
    â€œWell, I am, Leroy. Five-ten and a bit, to be exact. Where are you from?”
    â€œToronto.”
    â€œA Canadian among us. How exotic.”
    He said nothing.
    â€œThe land of lakes and trees and snow.”
    He smiled.
    â€œClubbing baby seals, hunting moose in the backwoods.”
    Shut up, she told herself, shut up while he’s still smiling.
    â€œNot a lot of seals in Toronto,” he said. “Are you a med student?”
    â€œNope. Grad student, like you.” She bit her lower lip.
    â€œWhat makes you think I’m a grad student?”
    â€œThe hair, Nature Boy.” She pointed at her own hair and raised her eyebrows. “We don’t need to look respectable.”
    He laughed. The drone of traffic came through the open window, regularly interrupted by taxi horns and sirens heading down 70th to the hospital’s emergency department. They heard shouting on the street and Benny went to the window to look out. Leroy joined her and they stuck their heads out the screenless window, side by side, fifteen floors above the street. A homeless man was berating an invisible passerby. When they brought their heads back into the room, they faced each other.
    â€œWhere’d you get the scar?” he asked.
    She had a strong nose and a sharp chin and thought they made her face harsh. Someone once told her that her face was saved by her smile. They also said that the inch-long scar under her right eye made her look vulnerable.
    â€œBashed my face on the side of a pool when I was a kid. You?”
    He hesitated. She reached up to touch his forehead.
    â€œOh, that one. I fell on cement stairs at a rink when I was watching my mom play hockey.”
    Benny smiled. She knew she was wrong about the seals and the moose, but this was wonderful: a hockey-playing mother! “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you. I’d love to shake your hand again, but we seem to be accident-prone. I’ll leave you to your daydreaming.” She bowed instead, turned, and walked toward the door.
    â€œBenny.” She turned. “One day you and I will be living in Canada,” he said. “With our children.”
    She gave him a look, half smile, half question mark. Sometimes she was stunned by the things people could say.
    â€œNice image, Nature Boy,” she said. “But far from possible.”
    â€œYou don’t want children?” He was grinning.
    She hesitated, then laughed. “I can’t imagine living in Canada. Good night, Leroy.” Then she turned again and left.
    â€”
    The crowd in the lounge was starting to disperse, leaving in groups to go out for dinner. Benny would have to leave soon too if she wanted to get a run in before going back to the lab.
    â€œTurn it over,” Benny said.
    Leroy was picking at the rim of his plastic cup.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLook at the bottom.” She grasped his hands and guided them to turn the cup upside down. A drop of his drink landed on the thigh of his pants. “See that? Six. Polystyrene. It’ll disappear. And this