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Avoidance
By Dorian Bensen
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I should get going, she says as she sits down on my sofa. She twirls the fringe on her scarf, which has been unwound from her neck and now hangs past her waist up against her unbuttoned spring coat. She’s not nervous. Not exactly.
I tell her not to be silly and offer her a drink. She asks what I’ve got and I’m not sure whether to offer alcohol or juice. She actually just wants water. While I fill the glasses with ice I ask her how her new apartment is working out. It’s a new place downtown (naturally) and we are all jealous of the exposed brick and elevator and shiny bathtub. She actually takes baths. In New York City. With the door open. There are no roommates. Lucky bitch.
Do you think I should call him?
She has bypassed the apartment question. I set the waters on the coffee table and no one takes a sip. I think how nice it is to not feel uncomfortable with just the two of us in this room with no television or stereo. But still she needs to have other things to think about. There’s a lot of gossip going around, and I want to know what she knows, so I can know if I am going to tell her not to tell anyone first or if I can just dive right in. It can’t be resisted and she is asked if she knows about the thing that happened on Saturday night. She says she doesn’t, and after hardly any prodding promises to not to tell anyone if I tell her.
So she is told, and there is that pinch of guilt after the story is out, even though the teller will never be caught. She is entertained by the gossip, but it only takes her a moment to pick the water up and stare into the glass silently. It’s hard to figure out what she’s doing here, then. She could be afraid she’ll call him. I’ve told her to take the number out of her phone. She knows, she knows.
So it is me that gets talked about; a distraction. She doesn’t seem to be in a bad mood.
But she doesn’t want to go home.
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Dorian Bensen is a writer living in New York City. Please direct comments to mail@methree.net.
©
2003 Me Three