1536

Maybe you haven't been sleeping at night. Maybe you've been doing your best Margaret Houlihan and taking care of 3 H1N1's, 2 sinus colds, 2 secondary infections and a solo bout of pneumonia. Maybe you realize you've just been daydreaming in a chair with blue pleather cushions. Maybe Wolf Hall is open and sitting in your lap, daring you to force the dancing words to hold their assigned positions long enough for you to read them.

A woman is speaking. She ruined your daydream.

Or was it your nap?

Anyway. The woman is on the phone. YOU KNOW BECUZ SHE TALKS THIS LOUD. She is wearing a Burberry turtleneck. Mid Grey Melange. Ruffled sleeves.

Pearls.

HI. ALISON? THIS IS KATHLEEN BLAHBLAHBLAH FROM TEAPARTYTREASURES. I'M CALLING TO LET YOU KNOW THAT WE HAVE AN OPENING FOR OUR BLAHBLAHBLAH PARTY. GREAT! AND KAYLIE IS IN 2ND GRADE RIGHT? GREAT!

Blonde hair. Pearl earrings.

HI. MONICA? THIS IS KATHLEEN BLAHBLAHBLAH FROM BLAHBLAHBLAH. I'M CALLING TO LET YOU KNOW...

Your legs ache. This morning's nine miles hurt more than usual. You put your head in your hands. How many days in a row without more than two hours of sleep at a time? Twelve? Fourteen?

HI. DR. JULA?

Kathleen looks like someone else. A grown up someone else. A girl. Another Kathleen. Another Kathleen a long time ago at a private college halfway across the country. Tall. Lanky. Perfect teeth. Surgeon father. Grandfather was a former Governor.

GOP? You asked.

She stared at you for a full fifteen seconds. Freckles. Lips slightly parted. She sighed.

Umm. Dude. Like who cares?

You shrugged. You didn't. It was fall. Back when LL Bean dressed us all. Her in her Camden cords and Comfort Fleece.

You in your down vest.

Later. After watching the coxless pairs and the single sculls while sipping Rumple Minze mixed with hot chocolate. The dorm room door locked. Roommates elsewhere. Maybe an arrangement was in place from the first day of classes. Perhaps a dry cleaner's hanger left on the outside of the knob. Or a bit of colored tape on the frame at eye level.

A long girl tied spread eagle to a single bed. Held fast by Taekwondo belts. Yellow stripe. Orange stripe. Blue stripe. A red belt.

Two blue bandanas over her face.

Faded tan lines. Large breasts. Small areolas. Pink nipples. The smallest patch of pubic hair.

You are standing above her looking down. She is 5'10. Maybe 5'11.

125 lbs.

130 at the most.

Fuck me she says. Kill me.

You are naked. You see your flat stomach and your erection. Suddenly you feel embarrassed. You start to laugh to cover it up. You panic. You have never done anything like this before. The girl freezes on the bed when she hears you hurriedly pulling on your clothes.

You can't stop laughing. You are mortified.

She starts to yank herself free.

You turn and leave. Your keys are in your pocket.

ASSHOLE!

You hear it as you close the door. The hallway is empty. You are talking to yourself. Idiot. Stupid idiot. And: I am never coming to Massachusetts again.

Leaves are on the ground. The sky is black. Your tan Cavalier smirks at you under a light in the visitor parking lot. The girl has not pursued you.

Sir.

We are ready to see your son now.

You shake your head. Afternoon. Children's Hospital Urgent Care. Surrounded by the bourgeois.

We called your name three times.

All you see are blue scrubs.

Sorry. I haven't been sleeping much.

The tea party woman is still making calls when you pass her seat in front of the wall of windows. You tell yourself that she is the girl from way back when. But how can that be? No way. Or is she? You feel your face turn red. She places her phone against her ear.

HI. MRS. RIESLEY?...