« Passengers | Main | the PEN American Center »

Thu | April 20, 2006

An Attractive Distance

At Pho on 32nd Street, the scent of cilantro and lemon filled the air. These ingredients, and platefuls of sprouts, were added to bowls of noodle soup. The restaurant's menu folded out in three panels, but everybody ordered pho.

Marie and Petra sat across from each other at an orange table for four, consuming these noodles. The conversation continually returned to Morris, Petra’s boyfriend of two months, who was supposed to have met them over half an hour ago. Morris often kept Petra waiting.

"Do you talk to him about it?" Marie asked.

"No," Petra said. "It only bothers him and it doesn't change anything." She proceeded to recount the instances that Morris had been late, and what she had said each time, and what Morris had said in return. Marie wondered what Petra meant by "not talking about it" because it seemed that they had done a lot of talking. Petra related how two days ago he had gone to play pool with his friend instead of hanging out with her.

A guy with spiked brown hair approached the table. Petra turned and greeted him with a kiss, and introduced him to Marie. They shook hands. He sat down next to Petra and put his arm around her waist.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"I got held up," he said.

"You couldn't call?"

"It would only have delayed me further," he said.

"By thirty seconds?"

"Oh, hurry up and order," said Marie. "Let's get drinks, or dessert,” she said to Petra. They pointed to the smoothies at the next table and ordered "two of those." After considering the varieties of pho, Morris ordered "number five." A waitress with a long braid of black hair took their order.

They relaxed into a casual and rambling conversation, but Petra's discontent hung in the background. She carried the weight of previous grievances and dragged them around with her, ready to be unpacked at any moment.

"I want to live in a yellow house," Marie said irrelevantly, "not in rat-ridden New York."

"Morris's apartment has mice," Petra said.

"Oh bleh!" Marie said, looking at him playfully and shaking her head. He crossed his eyes. She noted that they were a greyish blue. He reminded her of the lifeguard at the pool where she had spent her childhood summers.

"There are droppings on the counter in the morning. And I've heard them at night," Petra continued.

"Ahh!" Marie squealed in imaginary terror, squeezing her eyes shut. For no reason, she giggled like a baby. The laughter was infectious. They all laughed, and an onlooker would have thought that something incredibly funny and clever had been said. It swept the sluggish thoughts away.

"Oh I'm so glad it's getting warmer," Marie said in another moment. She talked about the beach and conjured up images of iced tea and the ocean and saltwater. They told stories of summers past.

When they had filled themselves with broth and noodles, they sauntered, humming, out of the restaurant.

"What train are you taking?" Morris asked Marie.

"The 1/9," she said.

"That's my line," he said.

Petra's line was the N/R. She gave Marie an enthusiastic hug. She gave Morris a lingering kiss and then disappeared down the stairs.

Morris walked quickly away and Marie skipped to keep up with him. She half expected that they would talk about Petra, but he didn't mention her. She hardly knew what they talked about, and then they were at the 1/9 entrance.

"Want a smoke?" he asked, taking out a pack of cigarettes.

"I don't smoke," she said.

"Neither do I, really," he said, lighting up.

In the lamplight she looked at his face. She followed the lines of his brows and jawline. She didn't know if she breathed deeply from the brisk walk or from the intuition that floated towards the surface of her consciousness.

"I think I'm losing my hair," he said.

"Are you?" she asked. She extended her hand and tugged his hair above his forehead. "Well it's better to lose it from there than up here," she said, patting him on the top of his head.

They talked on, saying things that were forgotten as soon as they were said. In a few minutes they caught the 1, and in another few the train arrived at Christopher Street.

"Bye," Marie chirped.

She told herself not to look back as she darted out the train doors. But the thought was no match for the impulse, and she turned. He looked steadily at her. Locked in this gaze she answered, without wanting to, the question he had not asked.

« Previous | Posted by Lily in sketches | on April 20, 2006 05:35 PM | Next »