May 31, 2008
solitary bees, 51
It is darker now. The light is on on the night stand beside her. She is scraping the last of vanilla ice cream from a bowl. There is a raspberry left in there she picks out and plops into her mouth.
You know, I’ve been trying to think if I remember seeing you come into the shop or even around town.
He has his hands on the arms of his chair and has been staring straight ahead. He looks over at her.
I mean, I keep racking my brain trying to think of when I might have seen you. Surely an individual as fucked up as you would have made a greater impression on me. But nothing. Blank slate. It’s like you must have been invisible.
He gets up and walks over to her. He holds out his hand.
You want some more ice cream?
She looks at him, indignant, hand held out, waiting.
She almost throws the bowl at him then eventually hands the bowl to him.
Hey, what’s your name?
He stops and looks back at her, confused.
Jeremy.
Jeremy. Fucking Jeremy. Mother fucking Jeremy.
He walks out the door.
Hey.
He stops.
Bring me some fucking water when you come back up here asshole.
She can hear him on the stairs.
Goddammit.
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