Free Good People by Robert Lopez

trying to do so. He realized she might get the wrong idea, that the gesture could be misinterpreted. He thought people from the Midwest were more likely to misinterpret certain gestures. He put his hands in his pockets instead, playing with the loose change he found there. On this particular walk neither led the way, rather, whenever oneseemed to meander down this pathway or that one, the other was only too happy to follow, thinking nothing of it, like what could happen if they ended up on the other side of the park after sundown, knowing that people are sometimes harassed on that side of the park at night, even mugged at knifepoint. Nothing like that happened during their walk together, but it could’ve. Had that have happened, had a mugger actually pulled a knife on them, demanding their undivided attention, their wallets and jewelry, their full cooperation, the one driving would like to think he’d have risen to the occasion, that he could have played hero, staring the mugger down, unblinking, the look in his eye telling the mugger that he’d better move on, take his business elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d have to relieve the mugger of his knife, take it off him, getting up real close, daring the mugger to make his move, to flinch. He’d say something like, I’ll take that for you, or You won’t be needing this. Then he’d put the mugger in a headlock or pin his arm behind his back, effectively making a citizen’s arrest, telling his future wife to call the police. He’s pictured it before, many times. But nothing like this happened on their walk together. During this walk each of them looked mostly at the path in front of them, turning every so often to smile at the other or see if the other was smiling back. More often than not, each was smiling when the other looked, except for once whenthe one now driving mentioned his father, how he’d been arrested once or twice, was never around much, and how that he’d never actually known the man.
    Both were pleased with the outing, how it went, and what it promised.
    The one driving says, What’s the difference?
    The one in the passenger seat says, If you have to ask . . .
    At home, they divide the chores evenly. He cooks most nights and is responsible for going to stores—hardware, grocery, whatnot—though he is always overwhelmed in a store. He never can decide which item to purchase, which brand is best. Recently he has asked his wife to make lists, this way, he will not have to make any decisions himself.
    It takes him twice as long to shop for groceries as it does the average person.
    Once she thought something had happened. She thought he’d either run off with someone at work or been killed. He used to mention one of the sales representatives by name. He said something once about her eyes and legs. When he said this about the sales representative, she said, I think we have to get something straight here. She was removing a brassiere, arms twisting around her back, hair down around her shoulders. He was watching. He likes to watch his wife disrobe. Sometimes he lingers on the other side of doorways.He will put his eye against the space between the door and wall. Once he dropped outside the bathroom to look under. He lay down on the carpeted floor, making sure that the floorboards stayed quiet as he did this because sometimes floorboards advertise one’s presence. He can always hear her when she is on the move from the bathroom to the bedroom. She is light on her feet, but that doesn’t matter, apparently, at least not to the floorboards. Once on the floor, with his right cheek pressed tight to the carpet, he got to see those light feet, how she rose up on her toes to drape a towel over the shower rod, almost like a ballerina. Sometimes he will handle himself through his pants, but he never takes himself out, never tries to finish. He is always hopeful that they might have a go afterward. She is usually a