Meter Maids Eat Their Young by E. J. Knapp

our hands brushed. It felt like an electric shock and I know she felt it too, because she hesitated, then turned to face me. She stared at me. I think we were both holding our breath.
    She turned back and started to walk up the stairs. I headed for my door.
    â€œTeller?”
    I looked up at her. She had stopped and was looking at me.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œDo you ever think about that night?”
    I didn’t have to ask her what night she meant. I’d thought of it often enough, separating each moment like the frames of a film, examining each one, looking for answers I knew I wouldn’t find. Jaz had been the first person I’d encountered upon my return and the attraction I’d felt was immediate. I’d thought it would come and go as all my other attractions to the various women who had crossed my path in the past had, but it lingered. Maybe I’d been tired from the long drive across the country with a car full of cats. I know I’d been feeling disoriented being back in the land of memory. And I’d been sure I was mistaken in thinking the feeling of attraction was mutual, even before I found out she was gay.
    A week later, without really thinking about it, I had asked her to ride the carousel with me. My original intention had been to ask Felice, but when I called Jilly’s to see if she’d be up for that, Albert had told me she wasn’t around. On a silly impulse, I’d asked Jaz and she’d agreed, ribbing me the whole way. After riding the carousel several times, we had walked through the park for hours.
    There had been something about her, the way she’d moved, her voice, the questions she’d asked, the way she’d listened, that had made my head spin. Instead of the attraction fading, it had grown stronger.
    We’d taken a narrow trail that led down to the river. It was dark and I’d stumbled on a root or something. She’d caught me and for a long moment we had stood there, too close, our bodies touching in an easy embrace, our lips millimeters apart. They may have even touched, briefly, and then we were both an arm’s length apart, breathing hard. I don’t know who broke away first and neither of us had spoken of it since.  
    â€œAll the time,” I said.
    â€œMe, too.”
    She turned then and ran up the stairs. I stood there until I heard her door open and click shut.

In The Robyn Zone
    I was walking across an open field deep with snow, following a single set of tracks receding into the dusky distance. Despite the snow and the long, narrow icicles hanging from the barren branches of the trees, I didn’t feel cold. I could see a figure off in the distance, at the very edge of vision. I knew who it was. I knew if I increased my pace, she would increase hers. If I lagged, she would lag. If I stopped, she would wait until I started again.
    And I knew that I had been on this trail a long time. That at the beginning of my journey other trails had crossed mine. That I had considered turning off, had even taken a few steps in other directions only to turn back and resume my fruitless trek. But that had been long ago. Now there was only me, her, and the never-changing distance that separated us.
    As I walked, the trees lining the path rustled and Jaz stepped through them. She watched me for a moment and then joined me on my trek. At first she was silent, putting one foot in front of the other as I was doing. We came to a turn. The path widened. I walked several steps ahead before I realized she had stopped. I turned and saw her looking at me.
    â€œYou’ll never catch her,” she said.
    I looked over my shoulder. As I knew she would, Robyn had stopped as well. Waiting. I looked back at Jaz.
    â€œI know that,” I said.
    â€œWhy do you chase her, then?” she said.
    I felt confused by her question. It should be such an easy one to answer. I shivered, feeling the cold now, covering me like a