She arrived at his house in tiny little coochie cutters and tall magnetic boots. As she drew him into his own bedroom, as if she owned the place, she explained that she had been on a waiting list for the magnetic boots, which were supposed to interact with the mantle of the earth in a way that would counteract gravitational pull. She put down her beer, picked up a picture of his wife, and gazed at it. She put it down without comment, though there was a darkness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
“My dad walked out on me,” she said, with a short, airless laugh. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he had the emotional energy to feel bad for her. “It’s such a cliche, I hate it,” she said softly. “It was sophomore year of college, and my ma just calls and goes, he’s gone, and I don’t think he’s coming back.” She started undoing the buttons on her shirt, and her confession against this action seemed a bizarre juxtaposition.
“At least you weren’t a child,” he said, though he didn’t mean to say it. She narrowed her eyes, then smiled.
“That’s true,” she said.
“Why did he leave?” he asked, following her lead, beginning to remove his own shirt. She closed her eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know. Irreconcilable differences. He didn’t like the new shade of paint in the living room. He met a hotter, younger version,” she said, and he realized that this probably wasn’t meant to give him an erection. She continued. “It was the middle of the winter. And I was old enough to forgive him if he woke up one day and realized he fell out of love with us, it happens all the time. But I couldn’t forgive him for thinking I loved him so little that I wouldn’t worry he was in a ditch somewhere, freezing to death. I wanted to find out he was alive first, before he could be dead to me, you know?” she said, sliding out of her shorts.
“That seems strange, freezing to death,” he said, unable now to imagine what a chill in the air felt like. The news made no qualms about it, the looming
20 | Psychopomp Magazine