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Show Woodworth/206 "I. Urn. My sister is coming home this weekend. For Labor Day. % parents are having a party for her. Do you want to come?" "I can't," he says. "I've got to go to San Francisco on business." They watch each other. Does she really look as distant as he does? She feels that way. It seems senseless not to say, good-bye then, I'll see you later. Go back inside her own apartment. She needs to lie down. But he doesn't leave, so she doesn't. "Oh," she says. Then, "Do you want me to come with you?" "I don't know. I don't care," he says, his voice flat. "I don't give a shit. Do what you want to do." "I'll come with you, then," she says. "Whatever." He turns and continues down the stairs. Isn't there more? Shouldn't they hug? This really is it, then. This is their relationship. At least they should talk about what she should bring. How she should act. Whey* they are leaving. Will she have be pose as his wife? Wear a ring? "Ok," she says. Did he hear? The outside door swings shut. She turns back into her apartment, movement only a series on pains. She lies stiffly on the bed. There it is then. Funny, it feels empty, the way a boat does when the sails are furled, the canterboard up, the ropes coiled. Ready to go, but used up, too. She moves one leg slightly, reminding herself of him with the pain that runs up her spine. The sheets smell of him. Always, from now on, the sheets will smell of him. The thought comes over her dully. Damp, dirty sheets. Smothering. She pulls herself_out of bed. Walks slowly to the refrigerator. Not hungry, but time to eat. She takes cheese, bread, mayonnaise and lettuce. Makes |