Free The Ice Age by Kirsten Reed

thinks I’m smart, and he thinks I ‘get people’. He didn’t think I was off in left field when I declared Stephanie’s men dicks. He figured I had my reasons, which I did. I asked him what Ward was like. He said he was serious.
    Gunther never gets stoned during the day. It’s an evening indulgence. Occasionally I imbibe in the daylight hours, on long quiet stretches of road, much to his chagrin. When we drove past a sign to the Grand Canyon I was so stoned I thought it said, ‘The Grand Crayon’. It was all infectious giggles from there. I said, ‘Hey Gunther, we should go look at that.’
    He said, ‘We should.’
    So we did. We both stood there, looking out. But he spent most of that time looking at me. I could see his warm, glinty-toothed smirk out of the corner of my eye.
    After a while, when we were on the road again, I said, ‘Gunther?’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜If we’re driving past the Grand…Crayon!… does that mean we’re heading east again?’
    â€˜Mmm, basically.’
    â€˜I thought we were going to California.’
    â€˜Well, which coast did you want? They both have their good points.’
    â€˜Um?’
    â€˜What do you say to New York City?’
    â€˜Um, yeah, sure.’ Then I thought about it and yelled, ‘Did you go to San Francisco without me?’
    He actually stammered for a few seconds. ‘Well I, not as…’ Then regained his composure with a gleeful, ‘Bit young to be a ball and chain, aren’t you?’
    We stopped in a sun-drenched hicky township, to grab a bite in what looked to be an old-style saloon, give or take a few hookers. Gunther was at the bar talking to the proprietor. There was a young precocious country bumpkin hanging around, and she and I got to talking.
    â€˜Is he your husband?’ she asked.
    I couldn’t believe I’d accomplished the huge leap from alleged daughter to wife.
    â€˜No…’
    â€˜That guy is hot.’
    â€˜Think so?’
    â€˜Fucking hot.’
    An impromptu heart to heart ensued, during which she told me to jump his bones. She said old guys never make the first move. No one wants to be a dirty old man. But no one wants to be a lonely old man, either. I told her I thought Gunther liked being a lonely old man. She said loving each other’s the best thing a couple of people can do. She finished on a romantic high with, ‘Shit, fucking’s about the only thing a coupla people can do in this boring shithole,’ then mumbled, ‘New York City. Wish I had your luck…’

    Personally, I don’t see the rush in regard to nailing Gunther. For one thing, I haven’t really properly done it yet. That hasty puncture wound out back of the convenience mart barely counted. I don’t know what I’m missing yet; have nothing to long for. I can feel a building desire to be closer to him, though. I am comfortably certain he is the man for me. I hate to think of him wanting me too, yet hanging back over some tortured confliction. I don’t want him to suffer. And then there is the whole potential Soulmates of Eternal Darkness thing. I’m up for that.

    It’s nice just to be chatting again. That night, over our joints, I told him about losing my virginity. He listened somberly, then said it was about as unromantic as his first time. He asked if the experience had any redeeming qualities. I said no, not really. I didn’t want to tell him the only plus was envisioning I was with a younger him. I feel so many things for Gunther that it didn’t seem that pressing to come over all slutty. He told me his first time was with a prostitute.
    â€˜What, really?’
    â€˜Yes, I just thought it was about time.’
    â€˜So, what, you saved up your allowance?’
    â€˜No, nothing like that.’ He laughed. ‘I haven’t paid for it since, and I don’t think I thought paying for it