by Kim Chinquee
The next place was pretty empty. I sat at the bar and ordered a salad and chips with spinach dip and a Pinot Grigio, started sipping. I'd been hoping for more action. I watched the TV, something sports related.
A guy sat next to me. He'd been at the table with a group of other people. He said hello. "Hello," I said. He didn't look too interesting to me, but I guessed he was someone I could talk to.
He gave me the usual: how are you and what're you doing here alone, stuff I'd heard before, but at least this time I was trying to be honest. I told him I flew in with my teenage son to pick up a car from my ex-husband. "It was his wife's old car," I said. "Mine's dead. My son's sixteen and the carís officially his once he gets his license."
This guy was gray and smiley. He sipped a Michelob. The bartender brought my food out. "Oh," he said. "I'll let you eat."
"It's a lot," I said. "Have some."
I ate my salad and he took some chips, loading them with dip. He said he was from the area, D.C., installing alarms in people's houses.
"Nice," I said. He talked about his kids. They didn't live with him. The mother got custody.
It was a decent salad, but I was hoping for better. I ordered more wine.
A woman from his table threw something white in his direction. "Someone's calling you," I told him.
He turned around, telling me that was his sister. I was hoping for a man. It was getting late, and this wasn't the man. He seemed sort of flimsy, or not screwed up enough or something. He went on to tell me about going to the movies with his kids, a Santa movie, and we talked about movies. He didn't know the ones I mentioned.
I started going for the chips and dip. It was better than the salad. I told him about my car's slow death, how I'd run it to the ground, although I didn't tell him that I'd put on all those miles on the trips to see my guy. I lived in Michigan and my guy lived in Illinois and I drove to see him on the weekends. I couldn't afford to buy a new one.
"My sonís new car's nice," I told him. It was a Chevy Berlinetta with two-hundred-thousand miles, and I was driving it back tomorrow. Maybe I'd let my son drive. He'd flown in with me, complaining about a crying baby two seats ahead.
I told the man I had to go, wished him luck with his alarms. I remembered eight years before, the last time I'd flown into Baltimore for a conference, bringing my son with me so he could visit with his father. I stayed at a hotel and met a man who bought me drinks and then well, you know. He was a nice man, maybe.
I drove the car around. I didn't know the area. I didn't remember where my ex lived, where exactly my son was. After my ex had picked my son and me up at the airport, we went back to his place to get the car, and there I saw his brother who I hadn't seen since I was twenty. The brother was wider, fat, with long hair, sitting with my exís sleeping baby, since the new wife was a nurse and working. The baby was six months and looked like his father: his squinty eyes, pouty lips, skin. He looked like my son had as a baby.
On the ride, my ex said he was glad to help me, that he wanted me to be happy, that he wished he'd been better to me when we were married. He said he learned from me, and I wondered if he was still a man who cheated. A man who drank and beat. "That guy you're with," he said. "I hope he's good to you."
I watched the things we passed, not recognizing anything.
All content in SmokeLong Quarterly copyright 2003-2014 by its authors.
Kim Chinquee's collection of flash fiction, OH BABY, will be published in March 2008 by Ravenna Press. Her stories appear in journals including Noon, Denver Quarterly, Conjunctions, Post Road, Fiction, Notre Dame Review, Willow Springs, New Orleans Review, Mississippi Review, and many others. She received a 2007 Pushcart Prize.
Read the interview.
|Issue Nineteen (December 15, 2007): The Off-Season by Jami Attenberg «» A Company Function by Grant Bailie «» Food Spectrum of the Rainbow Family by Melissa Bell «» Holiday Inn by Kim Chinquee «» Killer Pair by Trinie Dalton «» What Happened to My Purple Flip-Flops by Arwen Dewey «» Truth (ii) by Ben Ehrenreich «» How 9) Strange by Laird Hunt «» The Mess You Made in Us by C. Robin Madigan «» Red Brick by Darlin' Neal «» A Boy Not Born Yet by Tori Malcangio «» Taco Foot by Jack Pendarvis «» Boyandaquarter by Ben Stein «» Teec Nos Pos (Circle of Cottonwoods) by Beth Thomas «» Music from 1975 by Benjamin Weissman «» Interviews: Jami Attenberg «» Grant Bailie «» Melissa Bell «» Kim Chinquee «» Trinie Dalton «» Arwen Dewey «» Ben Ehrenreich «» Laird Hunt «» C. Robin Madigan «» Tori Malacangio «» Darlin' Neal «» Jack Pendarvis «» Jim Ruland «» Ben Stein «» Beth Thomas «» Benjamin Weissman «» Cover Art "Desire" by Marty D. Ison «» Letter From the Editor|