Now there are THREE
In the kitchen, Lizzy stared blankly into space and occasionally raised a spoonful of cereal into her mouth or took a swig from her mug. Each sip of coffee was helping her think more clearly, but the overall post-party depression clung to her. She felt tired yet nervously excited, paralyzed with fatigue yet antsy with anxiety. But mostly she was sad. For what, she didn’t know.
Cindy was eating toast and reading the New York Times online headlines on the computer in the living room, and Chad was sitting on the living room couch watching some ESPN special on basketball in the seventies. Lizzy thought the players looked ridiculous with those high socks and hot pants, but she wasn’t up to making a snide comment.
Lizzy got the sense that Chad didn’t even like sports; he just kept it on in case Tim or Vince might stop by, or Mike or Jerry. She had never seen Chad get that excited about a game; he mostly just zoned out drinking a beer and showed no emotion. His friends were certainly into it though. Tim was a rabid Red Sox fan and would get out of hand screaming at the TV and jumping around after a home run or a win. Sometimes Lizzy felt like Tim acted overly dramatic because it was cool and made him a man or something. Maybe Chad’s indifference was a similar thing—maybe it made him cool.
Sometimes the house was so full of rowdy guys it was nauseating. Chad’s friends could be endearing though, with their little flirtations with Lizzy. But mostly Lizzy wanted them gone, although she would never say anything to Cindy. Cindy was like a chameleon in all the chaos. She fit right in with the boys and would cheer along with the games and knew all the players and some of the stats. She was really pretty sharp when she wanted to be.
Lizzy’s thoughts about Chad and his boys were interrupted when she saw Cindy, now finished with the computer, sit down right next to Chad, grab the remote and change the channel to one of TLC’s home shows, “Trading Spaces.” Lizzy had seen this antic before and knew it was trouble.
“What the fuck?” Chad shouted
“Shut up.” Cindy responded. Chad hated any kind of home show, especially “Trading Spaces.”
“Cindy, don’t make me hurt you, you stupid Jew.” He grabbed her around her neck and fought to free the remote from her clutched hand. Cindy broke free of his grasp and bopped him on the side of the head with one of the couch pillows. Chad burrowed into her and tackled her against the couch, pinning her arms up by her head. He tried to hold both of her arms in one hand while grabbing for the remote with the other, but this wasn’t working. Cindy was a skinny, tiny little thing, but she had a lot of spunk. She had played sports in high school, had even run a marathon once, and she was really quick.
“Chad, get the fuck off me, I want to watch this. I like this show.”
“I hate this fucking show. And I was watching something else, give me the remote back.”
This kind of play fighting could be cute sometimes, but Lizzy had seen enough of it and now it just made her sick, especially with a pounding hangover. She just wanted to be alone. Yes, a nice walk by myself, she thought, that’s what I need. Clear my head, take in some sights, people watch, and just relax.
Still in her nightgown, she walked through the living room and grabbed her coat. As she was putting it on, both bodies on the couch stopped moving. Two heads poked up and stared at her.
“Where are you going?” Cindy asked.
“I’m just gonna take a walk around Telegraph,” Lizzy said. “I want to check out the street fair.”
“In your nightgown?” Chad said quizzically.
“Yeah, well, I just need to go now,” Lizzie said.
“Wait,” Cindy pushed Chad off of her and walked toward Lizzie. “I’ll go with you, I need to pick up some stuff on Telegraph.” Cindy, also in her nightgown, grabbed her coat and put it on. Chad stumbled to his feet, straightened his pajama bottoms and tee shirt, and joined them in the foyer.
“Here, I’ll come too. We’ll all go together. I gotta get out of this place. It’s fucking stuffy in here.”
Lizzy was too exhausted to say anything.
So the three of them, in their pajamas, spring jackets and sandals, marched out of the door and headed toward Telegraph Avenue.
Cindy was eating toast and reading the New York Times online headlines on the computer in the living room, and Chad was sitting on the living room couch watching some ESPN special on basketball in the seventies. Lizzy thought the players looked ridiculous with those high socks and hot pants, but she wasn’t up to making a snide comment.
Lizzy got the sense that Chad didn’t even like sports; he just kept it on in case Tim or Vince might stop by, or Mike or Jerry. She had never seen Chad get that excited about a game; he mostly just zoned out drinking a beer and showed no emotion. His friends were certainly into it though. Tim was a rabid Red Sox fan and would get out of hand screaming at the TV and jumping around after a home run or a win. Sometimes Lizzy felt like Tim acted overly dramatic because it was cool and made him a man or something. Maybe Chad’s indifference was a similar thing—maybe it made him cool.
Sometimes the house was so full of rowdy guys it was nauseating. Chad’s friends could be endearing though, with their little flirtations with Lizzy. But mostly Lizzy wanted them gone, although she would never say anything to Cindy. Cindy was like a chameleon in all the chaos. She fit right in with the boys and would cheer along with the games and knew all the players and some of the stats. She was really pretty sharp when she wanted to be.
Lizzy’s thoughts about Chad and his boys were interrupted when she saw Cindy, now finished with the computer, sit down right next to Chad, grab the remote and change the channel to one of TLC’s home shows, “Trading Spaces.” Lizzy had seen this antic before and knew it was trouble.
“What the fuck?” Chad shouted
“Shut up.” Cindy responded. Chad hated any kind of home show, especially “Trading Spaces.”
“Cindy, don’t make me hurt you, you stupid Jew.” He grabbed her around her neck and fought to free the remote from her clutched hand. Cindy broke free of his grasp and bopped him on the side of the head with one of the couch pillows. Chad burrowed into her and tackled her against the couch, pinning her arms up by her head. He tried to hold both of her arms in one hand while grabbing for the remote with the other, but this wasn’t working. Cindy was a skinny, tiny little thing, but she had a lot of spunk. She had played sports in high school, had even run a marathon once, and she was really quick.
“Chad, get the fuck off me, I want to watch this. I like this show.”
“I hate this fucking show. And I was watching something else, give me the remote back.”
This kind of play fighting could be cute sometimes, but Lizzy had seen enough of it and now it just made her sick, especially with a pounding hangover. She just wanted to be alone. Yes, a nice walk by myself, she thought, that’s what I need. Clear my head, take in some sights, people watch, and just relax.
Still in her nightgown, she walked through the living room and grabbed her coat. As she was putting it on, both bodies on the couch stopped moving. Two heads poked up and stared at her.
“Where are you going?” Cindy asked.
“I’m just gonna take a walk around Telegraph,” Lizzy said. “I want to check out the street fair.”
“In your nightgown?” Chad said quizzically.
“Yeah, well, I just need to go now,” Lizzie said.
“Wait,” Cindy pushed Chad off of her and walked toward Lizzie. “I’ll go with you, I need to pick up some stuff on Telegraph.” Cindy, also in her nightgown, grabbed her coat and put it on. Chad stumbled to his feet, straightened his pajama bottoms and tee shirt, and joined them in the foyer.
“Here, I’ll come too. We’ll all go together. I gotta get out of this place. It’s fucking stuffy in here.”
Lizzy was too exhausted to say anything.
So the three of them, in their pajamas, spring jackets and sandals, marched out of the door and headed toward Telegraph Avenue.
posted by Frankis Molloy at 12:40 PM
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