Curtains: open.
Dark, neglected, empty wood-burning stove Night: black and lonely.
Phone: ringing a-fucking-gain.
______________________
I slide my thumb across the device. “What,
Jack.”
He sighs. “Where are you? I’ve been looking
for you everywhere.”
“What part of ‘It’s over and I’m out of
here’ did you not understand?”
Silence, then, “Where are you, Bec?”
Silence, then, “I’m not telling you.”
Silence, then explosion.
“What the hell is going on! Ten years of my
life and I don’t even get an explanation?”
I’m sporting the opposite of his energy
level. “I told you. I screamed all my reasons, but you weren’t
listening which is no surprise. You’d only have heard me if I
started the conversation with ‘the Dow Jones is up three points;
I’m leaving you.’ That’s the only way you would’ve heard me.”
I hang up before he has a chance for an
unwitty comeback. This time I turn the phone completely off. Why
torture myself? Best just to torture him. I’m done.
Staring at the stars outside my window, I
wonder how he hasn’t figured out that I came to our anniversary
spot alone. I guess he wouldn’t have expected me to fly without
him. It’s a thing I’ve never done. We met when I was twenty-five.
Married at twenty-seven. Separating at thirty-seven. Divorcing at
thirty-eight, I guess. All of this sans genius kids. What happened
to having children? What happened to that?
I let the wine do its magic of lulling me
finally into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, thanks.
5
Brendan
Cottage 2. Porch. 9 a.m. Clothing: Faded
blue jeans. No shirt. No shoes. Service? Definitely.
______________________
Her door opens and I wait. A chain reaction
happens in my body, beginning with my mind, moving to my gut,
landing in my crotch. I rest my hand on the space on my leg just
below and wait, eyes on where she’s about to be. Waiting. Waiting.
Waiting. What’s taking her so long? Stick your head out
already.
Bam.
She steps outside and turns her head right.
Looks right at me like she was hoping I’d be here. The same tigress
I saw last night is peering out from her eyes. She gives hungry a
whole new look and it’s got nothing to do with wanting donuts. I
check her body out as she stands staring at me from the welcome
mat. Nice rack held up by a bra that doesn’t need to push the
already perky bounty up. Her sundress is tight around a womanly
waist and it hangs to the floor so I can’t see her legs. That’s
okay, I’ve got an imagination. I bet what’s under there is smooth
and firm. Shaved. Flawless.
She scans my body too, but more quickly,
like she thinks I won’t notice. Oh, I notice.
I just stare at her. No smile. Fuck smiling.
I can’t be bothered.
“Hey.”
Her head tilts like an alien who doesn’t
speak the language. “Hi.”
That’s the most reluctant greeting I’ve ever
heard. Time to bring out the big guns. I slowly raise my hand and
touch my abs like there’s an itch I need to scratch, moving as slow
as a snail on Quaaludes in a snowstorm. Her eyes fixate on my hand
and she backs away into the cottage and closes the door.
What the fuck.
Fine. I’ll go check out the ocean.
6
Rebecca
Cottage 1. Back: on front door. Chest:
heaving. Panties: soaked.
______________________
Okay, somebody tell me that didn’t just
happen. I’m pretty sure I just got undressed by a pair of the most
beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His abs have nooks and crannies
I want to nibble on and his arms are just the right amount of
muscular. The kid looks like Zeus and Angelina Jolie had a son who
sprung out fully formed and ready.
But there’s no way he’s older than
twenty-four. I’ve got a million years on him, easy. But those abs…
when he touched them, I wished I were his fingertips. Why do I have
to be so much older? Why did I waste my good years on a guy like
Jack? It’s so unfair. It’s screwed up how society tells
Dark, neglected, empty wood-burning stove Night: black and lonely.
Phone: ringing a-fucking-gain.
______________________
I slide my thumb across the device. “What,
Jack.”
He sighs. “Where are you? I’ve been looking
for you everywhere.”
“What part of ‘It’s over and I’m out of
here’ did you not understand?”
Silence, then, “Where are you, Bec?”
Silence, then, “I’m not telling you.”
Silence, then explosion.
“What the hell is going on! Ten years of my
life and I don’t even get an explanation?”
I’m sporting the opposite of his energy
level. “I told you. I screamed all my reasons, but you weren’t
listening which is no surprise. You’d only have heard me if I
started the conversation with ‘the Dow Jones is up three points;
I’m leaving you.’ That’s the only way you would’ve heard me.”
I hang up before he has a chance for an
unwitty comeback. This time I turn the phone completely off. Why
torture myself? Best just to torture him. I’m done.
Staring at the stars outside my window, I
wonder how he hasn’t figured out that I came to our anniversary
spot alone. I guess he wouldn’t have expected me to fly without
him. It’s a thing I’ve never done. We met when I was twenty-five.
Married at twenty-seven. Separating at thirty-seven. Divorcing at
thirty-eight, I guess. All of this sans genius kids. What happened
to having children? What happened to that?
I let the wine do its magic of lulling me
finally into a dreamless sleep. Better than nightmares, thanks.
5
Brendan
Cottage 2. Porch. 9 a.m. Clothing: Faded
blue jeans. No shirt. No shoes. Service? Definitely.
______________________
Her door opens and I wait. A chain reaction
happens in my body, beginning with my mind, moving to my gut,
landing in my crotch. I rest my hand on the space on my leg just
below and wait, eyes on where she’s about to be. Waiting. Waiting.
Waiting. What’s taking her so long? Stick your head out
already.
Bam.
She steps outside and turns her head right.
Looks right at me like she was hoping I’d be here. The same tigress
I saw last night is peering out from her eyes. She gives hungry a
whole new look and it’s got nothing to do with wanting donuts. I
check her body out as she stands staring at me from the welcome
mat. Nice rack held up by a bra that doesn’t need to push the
already perky bounty up. Her sundress is tight around a womanly
waist and it hangs to the floor so I can’t see her legs. That’s
okay, I’ve got an imagination. I bet what’s under there is smooth
and firm. Shaved. Flawless.
She scans my body too, but more quickly,
like she thinks I won’t notice. Oh, I notice.
I just stare at her. No smile. Fuck smiling.
I can’t be bothered.
“Hey.”
Her head tilts like an alien who doesn’t
speak the language. “Hi.”
That’s the most reluctant greeting I’ve ever
heard. Time to bring out the big guns. I slowly raise my hand and
touch my abs like there’s an itch I need to scratch, moving as slow
as a snail on Quaaludes in a snowstorm. Her eyes fixate on my hand
and she backs away into the cottage and closes the door.
What the fuck.
Fine. I’ll go check out the ocean.
6
Rebecca
Cottage 1. Back: on front door. Chest:
heaving. Panties: soaked.
______________________
Okay, somebody tell me that didn’t just
happen. I’m pretty sure I just got undressed by a pair of the most
beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His abs have nooks and crannies
I want to nibble on and his arms are just the right amount of
muscular. The kid looks like Zeus and Angelina Jolie had a son who
sprung out fully formed and ready.
But there’s no way he’s older than
twenty-four. I’ve got a million years on him, easy. But those abs…
when he touched them, I wished I were his fingertips. Why do I have
to be so much older? Why did I waste my good years on a guy like
Jack? It’s so unfair. It’s screwed up how society tells
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