Shelby by Pete; McCormack

coming in for it. Might need you to play. Bring home some Bratwurst. Eric .
    He must not have known I was no longer working for Uncle Mannfred and Auntie Carol. The apartment was speckled in beer cans, cigarette butts and other party remnants, the stench of which all converged at and/or around my pull-out couch. The garbage had gone foul, the sink was coated with globs of what may have once been pasta and the fridge was empty save the imitation syrup spilled all over the bottom shelf and the residue of rotten vegetables in the crisper. I stood with the fridge door open and my eyes riveted on nothing, as if that might make a ham sandwich appear. In the end I ordered Chinese food—high on the gloss—sweet and sour pork with red sauce, two egg rolls, chicken chow mein and rice. I stayed home and read Walt Whitman. I spoke in accents. I drank water and wine. In short, I danced alone. Then I had some peach schnapps and thought I might throw up.
    The following morning was spent reflecting on the three days I had spent in Lucy’s company. Never had passing time been so easy—and in that lay our magic. In a sense I was like a late blooming flower, for the first time open enough to enjoy the warmth of life on the inside . As a youngster, just reading about relationships had been enough. What amazed me now was how sex—the mere mention of it it, even—could realign the focus of my week.
    By midafternoon, grocery shopping had landed me outside Lucy’s apartment, smiling at the calico cat in her window. I noticed her front door was ajar. I ran up the stairs and peeked inside to see a suitcase in the foyer.
    â€œHello?” I said to no response. I stepped inside and walked into the front room. “Hello?”
    A “Yeah?” came out of the bedroom. “Who is it?”
    â€œIt’s Shelby.”
    â€œCome on in,” she said, “I’m in the bedroom.” I walked in to find Lucy sitting on her bed tossing panties into a half-full suitcase. She looked up and smiled.
    â€œHey, Shel.”
    â€œHi, I … I was out shopping and I thought I’d drop in.”
    â€œCool.”
    â€œYou seem to be packing.”
    â€œRoad time,” she said in a chuck-wagon drawl.
    â€œYou’re going away?”
    â€œWork.”
    â€œOh.”
    Lucy stopped packing. “You seem confused.”
    â€œNo … it’s just … you made no mention of leaving.”
    â€œHmm. I guess … sorry about that. I guess … Alzheimer’s. I’ll tell you now. I’m going on the road.” She threw another pair of panties in the case.
    â€œFor how long?”
    â€œA few weeks.” A car horn beeped outside. “Oh, that’s my cab,” she said smiling.
    â€œCab? I could give you a lift.”
    â€œOh thanks, Shel. That’s okay, though. It’s already here.” She zipped up her case and walked by without even touching me. Picking up her other suitcase inside the already open front door, she positioned herself to allow me to leave before her. My offer to carry one of her suitcases was declined. She stepped into the taxi. There were no words exchanged between us. No hugs. Not a kiss.
    â€œWhat about us?” I asked. She shrugged as though surprised by the question. The car door slammed and she leaned forward to say something to the driver. As he pulled out from the curb Lucy smiled at me and waved. I waved back as the taxi drove off. I was stunned. Turning away, I noticed on the window ledge the calico cat perched on its backside, holding its belly, laughing uncontrollably. Suddenly the taxi screeched to a stop up the road and backed up whence it had left. Lucy grinned through the window. Had I not been forsaken? My heart fluttered like a butterfly grappling to be freed from a now useless cocoon. Into slow motion we galloped, lovers about to embrace in a gasping field of daisies.
    â€œI forgot to ask the landlord to feed the damn