will wrest every bit of emotion out of her one line ...
Jessica's imagination takes off on this nonsensical flight of fancy if only to escape where she is right now.
She returns to the tiny thread, clings to it, holds on.
"Okay," the first officer says. "You've found each other. Now get on with it."
The cops stand their ground, clearly waiting for Jessica and Marcus to make the next move.
"Riiiiight," Marcus says slowly. "Let's get going."
"Yes," Jessica says in a stilted voice. "Let's."
After a moment of hesitation, Marcus steps toward Jessica and takes his place beside her. She shifts, turns in the direction she was originally headed, and puts one foot in front of the other.
"Thank you," Marcus says under his breath. "I'd be headed for a holding cell if it weren't for you and your innocent face. They didn't even ask to look at your
documents."
"What did you do?" Jessica asks, eyes straight ahead.
"I was loitering."
Jessica's eyes flicker in his direction. "Loitering?"
"Loitering."
"Loitering?" Jessica asks again, this time with a hint of a laugh. "There are thousands of people passing through this airport, and they stop you for loitering."
"Apparently, I'm a conspicuous loiterer," Marcus answers. "Though less so since I shaved the beard."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Jessica's mouth twists. She had hated The Beard, and not just because of its regrettable jihadist insinuations. She had resented that Marcus chose to keep the wild, shamanic beard after his return from the desert, especially when she told him that it scrubbed her skin raw when he ravenously descended on her mouth or parts
southward. She wondered at the time if it was intentional, if he was making her wear him like a hair shirt, yet another form of penance for her careless infidelity at Columbia, a betrayal that had already resulted in two years of silence between them. The fact that she even entertained such ideas about this person she was
supposed to love proved just how dysfunctional that relationship had become, which, in her mind, was all the justification she needed for saying no and letting him go.
So, yes, you might say The Beard is a loaded subject. She resists the urge to ask him when he shaved it off. "The dreads are gone, too." This is what she says instead.
Marcus rubs the short tufts of hair on his head. "Hm," he murmurs, then nods soberly as if verifying this truth—the loss of his foot-long dreadlocks—for the very first time. They are marching forward in tandem, him right behind her, matching step for step, when he asks,
"Where are we headed?"
She slows down just enough for him to catch up. She glances behind and waves at the policemen who are still watching them from a distance. "I don't know, but let's keep moving."
And that answer, for now, is just fine with him.
s venteen
essica doesn't say anything as she leads Marcus across Concourse C. She can't resume talking until she's found a place to sit, somewhere away from the swarms of travelers, somewhere she can settle down and focus on upholding her half of the dialogue.
The content of this conversation with Marcus is difficult for Jessica to fathom. Where to begin? The conversation will require her total concentration, which won't be easy, since her mental competence has already been compromised by emotional trauma, pink wine, insomnia, and monounsaturated oils. She is grateful to have somewhere to go—back to Gate C-88—in two hours because it means their reunion will be finite. She can give her side of the narrative (whatever it may be) a
beginning, a middle, and yes, an end. The fateful hypothetical—what if you see Marcus again?—has at last presented itself. And now it's up to Jessica to give their story a resolution that she hopes will satisfy both Marcus and herself.
Jessica spots the neon sign for the Hwy. 9 Bar & Grille, pauses, almost turns toward it, then reconsiders.
She doesn't want to drink in
Jessica's imagination takes off on this nonsensical flight of fancy if only to escape where she is right now.
She returns to the tiny thread, clings to it, holds on.
"Okay," the first officer says. "You've found each other. Now get on with it."
The cops stand their ground, clearly waiting for Jessica and Marcus to make the next move.
"Riiiiight," Marcus says slowly. "Let's get going."
"Yes," Jessica says in a stilted voice. "Let's."
After a moment of hesitation, Marcus steps toward Jessica and takes his place beside her. She shifts, turns in the direction she was originally headed, and puts one foot in front of the other.
"Thank you," Marcus says under his breath. "I'd be headed for a holding cell if it weren't for you and your innocent face. They didn't even ask to look at your
documents."
"What did you do?" Jessica asks, eyes straight ahead.
"I was loitering."
Jessica's eyes flicker in his direction. "Loitering?"
"Loitering."
"Loitering?" Jessica asks again, this time with a hint of a laugh. "There are thousands of people passing through this airport, and they stop you for loitering."
"Apparently, I'm a conspicuous loiterer," Marcus answers. "Though less so since I shaved the beard."
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Jessica's mouth twists. She had hated The Beard, and not just because of its regrettable jihadist insinuations. She had resented that Marcus chose to keep the wild, shamanic beard after his return from the desert, especially when she told him that it scrubbed her skin raw when he ravenously descended on her mouth or parts
southward. She wondered at the time if it was intentional, if he was making her wear him like a hair shirt, yet another form of penance for her careless infidelity at Columbia, a betrayal that had already resulted in two years of silence between them. The fact that she even entertained such ideas about this person she was
supposed to love proved just how dysfunctional that relationship had become, which, in her mind, was all the justification she needed for saying no and letting him go.
So, yes, you might say The Beard is a loaded subject. She resists the urge to ask him when he shaved it off. "The dreads are gone, too." This is what she says instead.
Marcus rubs the short tufts of hair on his head. "Hm," he murmurs, then nods soberly as if verifying this truth—the loss of his foot-long dreadlocks—for the very first time. They are marching forward in tandem, him right behind her, matching step for step, when he asks,
"Where are we headed?"
She slows down just enough for him to catch up. She glances behind and waves at the policemen who are still watching them from a distance. "I don't know, but let's keep moving."
And that answer, for now, is just fine with him.
s venteen
essica doesn't say anything as she leads Marcus across Concourse C. She can't resume talking until she's found a place to sit, somewhere away from the swarms of travelers, somewhere she can settle down and focus on upholding her half of the dialogue.
The content of this conversation with Marcus is difficult for Jessica to fathom. Where to begin? The conversation will require her total concentration, which won't be easy, since her mental competence has already been compromised by emotional trauma, pink wine, insomnia, and monounsaturated oils. She is grateful to have somewhere to go—back to Gate C-88—in two hours because it means their reunion will be finite. She can give her side of the narrative (whatever it may be) a
beginning, a middle, and yes, an end. The fateful hypothetical—what if you see Marcus again?—has at last presented itself. And now it's up to Jessica to give their story a resolution that she hopes will satisfy both Marcus and herself.
Jessica spots the neon sign for the Hwy. 9 Bar & Grille, pauses, almost turns toward it, then reconsiders.
She doesn't want to drink in
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