It's Been a While
By Karen Schauber
We sit marooned in the cafeteria at the Ferry terminal, bickering. High squalls have put a moratorium on all sailings, and we aren't going anywhere any time soon. The room swells with families of feral children, and it smells like one of them needs a diaper change. I look over at Jeffrey tap tapping his fingers on the Formica tabletop; he's no Ringo. I flick my hand, hard, and he stops, looks up at me with those vacant blues as if I was Sister Marcie in catechism class, and waits for further instruction. I detest these co-dependency moments.
We talk in bits and pieces. Jeffrey, nose buried in a crossword puzzle, and me, watching people with lives they fell into by accident.
Parked across from us in front of the food bar, a woman, mid-40s and rake-thin, adjusts a flimsy gossamer blouse, lowering its neckline to plunging, whenever a fine-looking prospect approaches the food counter. When it's no one of interest, she covers up, her ample cleavage hiding in waiting. What a tart. I begin a guessing game trying to predict which hunk will catch her eye. This kills about an hour, and I'm getting rather good at it.
The feral children continue to whine and cry making everyone miserable. I want to smack them. Jeffrey decides he needs a cigarette, leaving me to keep an eye on our bags. I watch him weave through the rows of stranded passengers, long strides, as if he's never coming back. When was it that we stopped completing each other's sentences?
I return to the floozie. She has upped her game, drawing an unsuspecting bloke into her lair from the snaking self-service line. A demure smile, sweet and innocent, on top of honeydew melons. Her unsuspecting prey seems charmed, delighted. He's telling her he's writing a book; sounds like "Things that Might Kill You." She giggles. She seems interested. Her cheeks sprout a sunporch-pink glow. And she's shifted in her seat, made room for him on the armrest. She's on him like a Black Widow wrapping him in binding silk. Her venom, sweet and smooth; he offers no resistance. The woman has skills.
All at once, a voice comes on the loudspeaker announcing the imminent departure of the Ferry. I spring to my feet. Jeffrey has returned with chips, soda, and gummy worms, my favourites. He gathers up our belongings.
I adjust my neckline revealing a milky white, smooth, soft tenderness. He looks up. It's been a while.
THE END