American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 34

16 • FI CTION

It is so crowded that while four people are playing, the rest of
us have to stand packed against the walls. Everyone takes turns
playing but Ellen is the only one who is undefeatable, so she stays
in the game all night. Carson’s friends tell her that she is incredible,
that they have never met anyone like her, that they adore her unique
hairstyle. When it is Maurice’s turn, they cheer for him, too. They
call him Big Mo and he smiles his lovely smile.
Carson hugs me from behind. “We did a good party, didn’t we?
Want to count how many people we fit?”
But I slide away because I don’t want him to touch me.
“Aren’t you having fun?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, and I try to smile.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh huh.”
I feel like he has betrayed me and stolen from me, even though
I know that nothing had been mine to steal. I move away from him
and congratulate Maurice on his good game.
Later, there is talk of going to a bar. Ellen says she knows a place
with shuffleboard, and everyone is enamored with the idea of shuffleboard.
“Do you think you’ll go out, too?” I ask Maurice.
He shuffles from foot to foot. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“I don’t know if I’ll go out,” I say to Carson. “I might just stay
here.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks. His eyes are pleading.
I shrug. “I would rather be by myself.”
“Did I do something?”
I am quiet a moment too long.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing. I just like being alone sometimes.”
What I have said is too much. As a poet, Carson can be very
sensitive. But I am tired of caring about this.
“Why do you always choose to be sad,” he asks, “when you
could choose to be happy?”
“I’m not choosing anything.”
He turns away from me and I can see him giving up. “I’m going
to go out,” he says.