Free Featherless Bipeds by Richard Scarsbrook Page A

Faireville, did you ever think I would become the drummer in a touring rock band?”
    â€œThere are permanent dents on the table at the Faireville Times Café from you drumming on it with your silverware. I suppose that should have tipped me off.”
    When we were dating in high school, Zoe and I used to meet at the Faireville Times Café and sit together at the booth by the window. I’d make her laugh by playing The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” on the old-fashioned tabletop jukebox, and doing a flailing, wild-eyed impression of Keith Moon’s drum solo using a fork and knife as drumsticks. The memory of those few perfect days with her makes my heart thump, and I’m distracted from the question at hand.
    â€œHey,” I say, feeling hopeful, “when we both get back to Faireville for the summer, want to go to the Times Café for dinner? Sit at our old booth, for old time’s sake?”
    She pauses. “I’m not going back to Faireville this summer, Dak.”
    â€œWhat? Why not?”
    â€œI’m going to take a couple of intersession courses at the university, and look for a summer job here in the city. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and, as much as I feel nostalgic for Faireville, there are just more opportunities here in the city than back home.”
    â€œBut I thought that maybe we could, you know, get . . . ”
    â€œI know, Dak,” she says. “I know what you’ve been thinking. And part of me is thinking it too. Becoming friends with you again over the past few months has been . . . positive.”
    â€œBut, Zoe, I . . . ”
    â€œDon’t say it, Dak. I need you to understand something, okay? It’s my parents. They’re the reason I can’t go back to Faireville.”
    â€œYou can tolerate them for the summer, can’t you? I can take you away as often as you want.”
    â€œIt’s not getting along with them that’s the problem. It’s becoming them that I want to avoid. My mom and dad both grew up in Faireville, married the first person they ever had feelings for, then settled there for life. They were high school sweethearts, and look at them now. They never talk about anything or do anything together, and on the rare occasion that they do, all they can do is get into horrible fights over totally meaningless things. Neither of them is satisfied with their lives, and they blame each other for their unhappiness. I’m not sure they even sleep in the same bed together anymore.”
    â€œBut you’re not your parents, Zoe.”
    â€œNo, I’m not. And that’s why, unlike them, I’m going to see a bit of the world, live in different places, experience different things, date lots of different kinds of people, so I know what I want out of life, rather than settling for the first thing that comes along like they did. I want to explore my options.”
    â€œDate lots of different kinds of people?” I repeat.
    â€œLook, Dak, I know how you feel about me. You’ve never exactly been subtle about it. And part of me feels the same way about you. I’m sure my parents felt the same way in the beginning, too. But I need to be sure. I need to be sure that the people and things I choose to be part of my life are the right fit for me. And I can only know that by trying different people and things on for size. Do you know what I mean?”
    â€œBut, hey,” I say, trying to sound light and breezy, my heart sinking like a cannonball into the cold depths of the ocean, “what if I’m the right fit for you?”
    She sighs. “You have to let me figure that out on my own, Dak. I need you give me some time. And some space. Can you do that for me?”
    â€œYeah,” I say, “I can do that, I guess.”
    The waitress brings our bill. I toss a twenty on the table, then Zoe and I walk together through the cool night in silence, our footsteps falling