2 Written by Melanny Cowley

    I am in New York, but I don’t really live here. Brodie is the only real thing.  I have a boyfriend: Glen. He is finishing his PhD in psychology at Columbia. He takes me out to dinner, shows me New York the way he thinks I should see it. He wears silver framed glasses that drown in his fair complexion, that somehow clash with his black hair. He is always asking me questions about current events. These questions are a test, to see I’m good enough for him.
    I met Glen at the movies. He leaned over the aisle and asked me if I was alone. I said yes. “Me too,” he said, “Would you like to be alone together?” What a geek. But I couldn’t say no. I was lonely, and he seemed normal enough. I thought, this is sleazy, meeting a guy at the movies, but we went out for coffee, he said he liked dogs, and he said he liked to always pay for dates, so we made a good couple since I was broke. 
    He will be arriving soon, and I should be reading the New York Times, so I will be ready. But I can’t. I want to feel myself in the seat of car. I want to take a drive. I call Maggie.
    “Do you remember Marshmallow?” I ask before saying “hello.”
    “Yes,” she answers. Her voice is strained, resistive.
    “Are you busy?” I ask.
    “No.”
    “You don’t want to talk about it?”
    “Sometimes Jen,” she says, “I just don’t feel like talking about it.”
    “Fine, that’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not. I can hear the clock ticking. I can hear the refrigerator running.
    “I don’t know why I want to talk about it so much,” I say, “There’s something wrong with me, probably.” She doesn’t reassure me. Brodie’s wet nose muzzles the back of my hand.
    “How’s Glen?” she asks.
    “He’s Glen,” I say.
    “Right.”
    “Marshmallow was a good cat,” I say, “Sorry, I’ll let you go.”

Posted on November 7th, 2008 in Fiction