Issue #20 (2011) PDF - myweb - Long Island University

―I think I‘ll check out the buffet,‖ I say reaching for my bag. ―Dinner is at 6:30. We can
meet in the dining room if you like.‖
―No, wait for me,‖ he says disappearing into the bathroom. The room is so small, so quiet, I
can hear him unzip. I wait outside the room where there‘s air.
By the buffet, I excuse myself, so nervous I nearly slip into the men‘s room. I change course
and head for the ladies room, making for the nearest stall. I sit rubbing my temples, pants bunched
around my ankles. Three days had hardly seemed like enough time to unwind when I booked this
cruise. Now, the time stretches ahead of me like eternity. No one goes on a three day cruise to
relax, I realize. They go to drink. Let loose. Get laid.
I wash my hands in the small, gilded bathroom, lathering well. There are germs everywhere
or so I‘m told. But then, getting sick might not be bad. I inspect my hands under the dryer. The
knuckles are large, ugly, the nails short, wide. I wish my fingers were long and slender like the rest of
my body but then my ass is so flat, I need silicone pads to give it some shape.
Jim is still waiting for me outside. I check his expression for annoyance but find none, and
we go into the buffet. There are food stations every few feet occupying the center of the floor.
Nothing has been overlooked. There are fresh salads, sandwiches, pizza, hot entrees, soups,
desserts, bread and fruit and yet, with all that, the air is remarkably sanitized, aroma free. All I can
smell is Jim‘s cologne masking his sweat. We walk around with our trays though we know we‘ll have
Chinese once we spot it. We‘ve been typing out our likes and dislikes for a long time, each chat a
test to determine whether we have more in common than not.
We find a table on our third lap around. Around us, no one can move once they‘ve finished
eating. They sit like beached whales, sucking their teeth. We‘re no better, filling our plates with rice,
noodles, spare ribs and chow mein. Somehow, we all seem to have switched to survival tactics. I
forget dinner is in a few hours. I stare at the view of the city and wonder what Jim is thinking but I
don‘t stop eating long enough to ask. Jim looks around at the tables, chewing wildly, lips softly
smacking. He licks his fingers after each rib.
―I‘m going outside,‖ I say when both my stomach and ears have had enough. ―Sit in the
sun.‖ I am sure he will hang back, finish his rice, want some time to himself but he follows me. A
waiter approaches as we lower ourselves into deck chairs. I order a Bloody Mary, Jim has a beer. I
look around at the partying that has already begun. Balloon bottomed glasses dot the small tables
next to deck chairs, their paper umbrellas shielding what remains of ice cubes. A few seasoned
cruisers have worn their bathing suits under their clothes. They strip down in front of our envy and
dive into the pool. Loud music begins to pour from recessed speakers and we have to shout our
conversation.
―This should be fun,‖ he says as we wait for our drinks. ―Crowd looks lively.‖
―Nice of you to come,‖ I finally say.
―I‘m surprised you asked me.‖ He continues looking straight ahead. ―After so many
hints….‖
―Well, as I said, it is what it is.‖
―Really puts things in perspective, doesn‘t it‖ he asks moving his eyes in my direction.
―Make or break.‖
I fidget, trying to prevent the idea from rooting. I had not meant this to be seen that way,
had specifically said we didn‘t need to pretend to be a couple, that we could go our separate ways if
we wanted, connect at night when conversation would flow as it did on our evening chats. Our
drinks arrive. ―We‘re not out to prove anything,‖ I say.
Jim grunts as if I had dispelled some silly idea. ―Still, we can‘t go back to the way we were,‖
he says. ―No matter what happens.‖
I take a long sip, force a smile. ―What do you think will happen‖
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