“I was in a
long-term relationship,” he starts. “Actually,
I was married. To a woman who didn't really love me.
I know what it's
like to live a lie without even knowing it.”
The hills behind the
shiny glass windows roll, in the way that hills do.
Overpowering, the
two of them tiny.
“You go for the ones who hurt you,” she says. He doesn’t reply,
just nods. He is a paperback novel.
Simple and easily damaged.
The waitress brings them their two ginger ales, drops the straws
on the side of the table. The woman imagines she’s in a movie.
The director formulates every move:
HANDSOME MAN rocks his head back and forth, maybe humming
songs he wrote himself.
YOUNGER WOMAN writes poems, puts them on the Internet
for her admirers to read.
It’s not the same. His class of celebrity is of a higher stature.
“I’ve never been in love,” she says. She pushes back her brown hair.
His roots are brown, he’s trying to let the blonde grow out.
He sits calmly, leans
forward, stares at her with clear eyes.
He’s famous for his eye contact. The words he says
are scripted, but they’re what she needs right now.