Free When Watched by Leopoldine Core Page A

know the ages of white-haired people who were walking easily in hip outfits, maybe telling smart jokes. Frances was like that, a swarm of energy. She was attractive in her enthusiasm, which seemed unusual. Most masculine women appeared dour to Peanut, as if they believed that this sort of sulky demeanor was maleness. Peanut was too peevish herself to be near anyone like that.
    The man with the brown mustache stared at Peanut for a long moment. He scratched his neck, then walked slowly to his truck. Peanut leaned her head on the cool window glass.
    Frances had seen the man approach her car. She stood outside the gas station with a miserable look of concentration, holding her dim green travel mug and a bag of pretzel sticks. Frances imagined confronting him. Of course he would think she was Peanut’s mother, or maybe her father. Probably he would stare stupidly, trying to decide which. Frances was continuallychallenged to educate those who oppressed her, to talk openly about her genitals, and because of this she often resisted the urge to confront them at all. Frances found it ludicrous that she be perceived as a parent. She was no kind of parent and never had been.
Harrison Ford really
is
a father,
she thought.
Possibly even a grandfather, but he will never be called this.
In quiet agony, she sipped her coffee and considered man’s eternal separateness from progeny.
    Once inside the car, Frances tore open her bag of pretzels and ate several sticks, stealing glances at Peanut, her little foreboding face.
    â€œWhat did that guy say to you?”
    â€œHe didn’t say anything.”
    â€œI
saw
him. He was standing by the window.” She ate another pretzel.
    â€œHe just stared. We didn’t talk.” Peanut said, deliberately aloof. “He had a Bush/Cheney ’04 bumper sticker on his truck.”
    â€œIt really seemed like he was talking to you.”
    â€œWell he wasn’t.”
    The sun was almost gone and this made them both feel worse. Frances started the car and looked over at Peanut as they peeled out. “You have crumbs all over your shirt,” she said.
    â€œLook at yourself.”
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    In Marietta they checked into a Best Western hotel, which was run by a bunch of smiling Christians.
    â€œSo, two single beds?” the blonde woman behind the counter asked. She wore a hideous white button-down blouse with a pink chest pocket.
    â€œNo, one king,” said Frances.
    â€œIt’s the same price for two singles,” the woman said firmly, still smiling, determined to believe the two were poor and not perverted.
    â€œOne king,” Frances repeated and the woman’s face changed. She was the sort of idiot whose thoughts may as well have boomed from a speaker on her forehead. Peanut and Frances watched her think about them.
    The woman stared in amazement. “Alright then,” she said, collecting herself, and tensely typed something into her computer. She put a plastic card on the counter and pointed vaguely. “Up the stairs on your right.”
    Frances wanted to smile.
This is the great thing about capitalism,
she thought.
Christians selling queers a bed. Nothing in the world exists but profit.
    They dropped their bags off and went across the street to Outback Steakhouse. Peanut ordered a baked potato with sour cream and bacon bits. Frances ordered a full steak dinner. She had always been able to eat heartily under stress and Peanut found this unattractive, too warlike.
    Peanut slouched, letting her long brown hair fall over one eye. Lewd, tawny light lit the exposed half of her face. “So you’re not going to talk to me?” she asked, pissed to be the first to speak.
    â€œYou aren’t saying anything either,” Frances said impassively.
    â€œWell, I don’t know what to say to you when you act like this.”
    â€œWhat, like mean?”
    â€œMore like heartless. Like a piece of statuary.”