Free Far-Flung by Peter Cameron

our coats up.
    “I didn’t know you had a roommate,” I say.
    “He’s on tour,” Heath says. “He’s not around very much. He’s with Alvin Ailey.”
    He turns the TV on. Jimmy Stewart is crying and praying in a bar. We both watch. After a few minutes David comes in. He must have keys. He’s bought espresso beans, a pint of Haagen-Dazs ice cream, and a pack of Marlboro Lights.
    Heath gets up and grinds the beans. I pretend to be very interested in the movie. Now Jimmy Stewart is driving his car into a tree. Suddenly the room smells of coffee.
    We drink espresso and watch the movie. Heath and David sit on the couch, and I sit on a chair. After a while I get up and use Heath’s bathroom. It is wallpapered with postcards. There’s one, right above the light switch, of Block Island that I’m sure David sent him. David’s mother has a house on Block Island. I went there once with Loren and David, when they were still married. I untack the card and turn it over. It is from David.
Dear Heath,
    The weather has been great and I’m having fun. Today I played golf with my brother. Do you play golf? It’s boring, I think. Hope you had a good weekend.
    Regards, D.
    I tack it back up. Regards, I think: not love.
    When I go back into the living room someone has turned the lights off so just the TV illuminates the room. David and Heath are sitting close together on the couch, passing the pint of Chocolate Chocolate Chip ice cream back and forth. I watch them for a minute, from behind.
    I hate being here. I put on my coat. They don’t hear me. I have a feeling Heath is stroking David’s leg but I can’t really see. I could be just imagining it.
    “I’m going to go,” I say. “Thanks for the espresso.”
    They both turn around.
    “Don’t leave yet,” Heath says. “It’s almost over.”
    “I’ve seen it before,” I say. “Many times.”
    “Lillian, wait,” David says. “I was going to go back uptown with you.”
    I don’t believe this for a second. David has no intention of going back uptown. If you’re going back uptown you don’t take your shoes off.
    “I want to leave now,” I say. “I’m tired.”
    “How are you going to get home?” David asks.
    “Cab it,” I say. I put my gloves on.
    “Can I come down and help you find one?”
    “That’s all right,” I say. They both finally get up off the couch and come over to the door. “Good night,” I say.
    Before they can kiss me I leave. When I get out on the street I look back up at the apartment window. I can’t see them—just the silvery light from the TV. I go into the little store and buy a pack of cigarettes. A middle-aged Asian man in a jacket and tie sells them to me. He is very kind. He gives me three packs of matches and wishes me Merry Christmas. I feel like hanging out with him for a while. Like the rest of my life.
    Instead, I start walking up First Avenue. It’s warm out and the fresh air feels good. Across the intersection of First Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street, Santa is flying in a reindeer-pulled sleigh. The reindeer diminish in size: Each one is smaller than the one behind it. It’s supposed to look like they’re flying away into the night, but it doesn’t. It looks like Santa couldn’t find enough healthy reindeer this year. I take off my gloves to smoke a cigarette, and notice the ring on my finger. I forgot I had it on. I think of ways to get rid of it: tossing it under the wheels of a bus or handing it to a bum. I don’t do either of these things, though. I just stand under a streetlight and look at it.

NOT THE POINT
    T HE HALLS OF THE HIGH school are teeming with manic, barely dressed students, and I press myself against the tile wall and let them pass. There is something frighteningly erotic about this sea of bodies: Girls’ stomachs and boys’ shoulders are bared in a combination of what seems to be narcissism and lust, as if they have, emerged, not from History, but from some orgy, and are roaming the corridors