chapter 2

Leah is a shooting star. I met her at seven thirty later that morning. Leah claimed to be a morning person, but I never believed. She hid her sleepy eyes with adorable expressions.

“I’ve got nothing to do today but smile” she would say. It could really melt a heart and dissolve the very concept of conflict if you wanted it to. Yet, as my shooting star slipped in from the morning streets and sat next across from me, talking up a storm, my mind was elsewhere. Still in the restaurant. Still looking at that watch. Still watching myself on the barstool, befuddled by a stranger. Minutes passed.

“Are you even listening?” she asked. I could have said no. This was my luxury. She was human enough to know I knew she hardly listened at all, to anyone. Not to me, not to her better judgment, not to laws, not to signs that some neo-spiritual reformed Jew-Bu would consider absolutely divine. She had been alive enough, long enough to know that attention was a commodity not to be taken lightly. A lesson she taught to all who had seen her break eye contact to turn her glance to a window or into her coffee. There is something to be said at one preferring the look they are giving you than the words you are giving them. I thought of this –, while the waiter brought me a dopio and a scone.

“You know that has like 820 calories? All starch and sugar, sugar” she said.

“Oh Really? Are you sure? I’m going for the high score” I bit my scone. “This one has cheese, mmmm” She looked in her coffee and I lost her attention.

“I met someone”

“What?” I had it again.

“Not like that, this really weird guy”

“Jesus Christ you’re not…”

“No no, nothing like that, I guess I made a friend? As odd as that sounds. Who says that? I mean really”.

“People do! That’s a good thing! Friends are good!” Her face lit up, pushing stray hair aside. “I say you make friends with this guy, you don’t really have any friends, any real friends”

I could have said a lot of things, like none that you like or I have plenty and I resent that! But she had a point. I didn’t have a lot of friends, not in the city at least. Not that I saw more than once or twice a year as they strolled through town en route or from school. I had co-interns. They were just boring but decent for martini or smoothie conversation. But that didn’t change anything; I had no way around Leah’s insistence.

“I suppose you’re right” I told her.

The check came and she stretched her arm for it. There was no way she could reach it, slinked that far down in those avant gaurde chairs. “I got…”

I cut her off, cash in hand. “shut up” I said, slapping my MasterCard on the little black tray. She smiled, filling her mouth with both chocolate mint sticks, and told me she’d call me after lunch by holding her thumb to her ear and her pinky to her mouth. I could feel the brick get heavier in my pocket.

Or I was getting smaller.