(idea) by junkpile Wed Jul 12 2000 at 0:16:38
Lowell and I were over but not over. That is, I knew we were over, and had said it out loud, and, because he said he agreed, I thought he felt the same way.

We went for ice cream after work. The kids at the next table were making up ice cream songs, bouncing in the booth, and their mom was laughing along. How could you not be happy, sitting next to that?   He wasn't.   I thought if I told him stories, if I told him all the silly things I could remember from my life, he might smile. I talked and talked, making stuff up, knowing he knew I was lying.   Remember my three-legged four-titted half-sister from Utah? WELL. . .   His tired eyes never left mine, as if I were saying something dreadfully important, or he had something large and conclusive to say, but every time I asked, he shook his head.

I'd been ignoring my ice cream, it was running down my wrist. I ran my tongue in a circle, leaving a damp sticky bracelet. Strawberry cool on my lips, sweet between my fingers. He reached across the table and gripped my hand hard, awkwardly, our fingers not weaving together like they used to. Hands not fitting together right are terrible.   "Stop it. Please stop."   He looked as if someone had died right in in the room and I hadn't even been paying attention. He looked ready to vaporize. I hadn't known I could feel that nauseous that quickly.

I like it! 9 C!s