10 Written by Thomas Miller

    “I could never have stayed with you,” Georgeanne says.
    “Didn’t want you to.  Just a couple weeks.”
    “I might have slept with you if I was high,” she says.  “Or if I thought it would’ve made you feel better.  It wouldn’t have.  Jesus, we didn’t think you were ever going to get over her.”
    Bruce flexes his hands, trying to work feeling back into his fingertips, which have gone numb inside his gloves.  “It was a lot of things at once,” he says.
    “It was a lot of things and that bitch.”
    “She was okay.”
    “She was cheating.”
    “Wasn’t cheating.  She wanted to make sure she had someone ready for when we broke up.  I was trying to do the same thing.”
    “You are constitutionally incapable of cheating.”
    “I try harder to cheat than anyone I know.  I’m just not any good at it.”  Bruce turns his head and sees that the sand has frosted white in a little halo around them.  The heat from their bodies waking the earth’s moisture, only to have it re-freeze.  “Tell you what we do you lie on top of me and I’ll zip you into my coat.”
    “I wouldn’t fit.”
    “It works, I’ve tried.  Or I can zip you in and lie on top.  Warmer for you.”
    “Don’t.  I’ll have to say no and then you’ll hate me.”
    “You might not say no.”
    “You’d hate me anyway.  I’m with somebody and you’re with somebody.”
    “We don’t like Jerry.  He did not pass the OTB approval test.  I don’t think he’s ever passed any sort of test.  The over 300 pounds test.  The hideous ponytail test.  The probably cheating on you test.”
    “I didn’t say I liked him, I said I was with him.  But we like yours.  Ingrid’s nice and you’re nice and you’re nice together and it’s just nice to see nice people being nice.”
    “That’s really what you think of me?” Bruce rasps.  “Nice?”
    “How do you want me to think of you?” she asks. “Because I’m starting to think ‘asshole,’ with ‘nice’ as a close second.  Seriously, I’ve never seen you as happy as when you’re with Ingrid.”
    “So where’s she tonight?” asks Bruce.
    “At home, asleep.  That’s why we like her.  Because she’s not at risk for frostbite.  Because she’s got a 9:30 class tomorrow.  Because she’s sweet and polite and sensible and she’s got a great rack.”
    “I’m the sensible one,” says Bruce.
    “So why are you shivering out here at five in the morning?”
    “Not cold.  I’m dressed sensibly.  Thermal underwear.  Take my coat I’ll be fine.  Or take my longjohns and I’ll keep the coat.”
    “I’ll take your underwear later, when I’m freezing you to death,” Georgeanne says.  “God, look!”
    Four meteors in rapid succession.  The clouds are clearing and the moon is setting.  Bruce pulls his arms inside his jacket and forces his bare hands under his armpits to warm them.  He puffs out his breath and his teeth ring from the cold.

Posted on February 9th, 2009 in Fiction