He:
Sometimes I wish that there were no consequences,” she is saying, “sometimes I wish that each bright shining new moment could be enjoyed for what it is, without it leading to something else and something else and something else again. Sometimes I envy those old guys with Altzheimers who can’t remember what happened yesterday and don’t know what’s happening tomorrow and just live each day as it comes. Listen, does this sound weird to you?”
I try to focus on what she is saying; it is hard to drag my mind back to the conversation. She is sprawled next to me on the couch with legs akimbo, showing a disturbing amount of flesh. One boot is stretched out on the coffee table, the other is hooked up on the couch beside me. Since her dress buttons up the front I can see a good way up her stockings; far enough for it to be quite clear that they are indeed stockings. For a moment I envy the guy opposite for his less impeded view, but then her warm thigh nudges mine as she rocks it back and forth and I quickly change my mind.
“Uh huh.” is all I can manage.
She waves her hand airily, “Sometimes I wish that I could pick up some gorgeous guy without wondering if he’s a psycho, or if he will still respect me in the morning, or if I’ll ever see him again, or if he’ll make a good father to my children if I ever get around to having any. Maybe it’s just me; my insecurity, my worries, my anxieties. Maybe I always want to know too much.”
It’s early Saturday night on Karangahape Road. The Angle is sparsely populated with leftover people in everyday clothes; it’s still too early for the night people to come out and play. She looks out of place, a hothouse flower in a country garden: part goth, part strumpet and part goddess. Everyone is stealing glances at her. She doesn’t appear to notice.
“Maybe I should pick someone—someone I’m very attracted to—and just have a meaningless, anonymous affair. To try everything I’ve ever wanted to try, all those crazy dumb things you hear about and wonder what they could possibly be like.”
“Someone like you.” She reaches over and caresses the nape of my neck. My mouth is suddenly dry. I know that I should respond, but I don’t know how. It doesn’t seem to matter.
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