SoMa Literary Review

Gross

By Matt Simione

The Virgin Mega-Store’s ten-dollar sale on DVD’s and CD’s brought me out of the house. Ten bucks. What could be better? I called my friend and she agreed to meet me there.

“I should be there no later than six. Maybe six-thirty. Definitely no later than seven or seven-fifteen.” she said.

I laughed. She was always late, always. No matter what the occasion you can count on her being late. It’s just the way it is; the way she is. But she is my friend, and I like her. Actually, truth be told, I love her. I have for years. And I know she feels the same. Of course neither of us will say so publicly, it just isn’t… Well… You see, she has kids, and so do I. Hers believe good widows remain faithful to the departed spouse throughout the remainder of their life, and on through eternity. Mine? I’m not sure what their belief is, I only know they think it gross that their Dad might have sex on occasion. Gross is such a strong word. I could see if they’d say it’s awkward, or uncomfortable, or… whatever, but… gross? Gross?

I’m not bragging or anything, but more than one woman has told me that I’m ok in the bedroom arena, if you know what I mean. Ok, it was only one, but… Hey! Maybe I’m no Casanova, but I’m certainly not gross. That’s harsh. And even if I was – which I’m not – decent people wouldn’t say that anyway. It’s just rude. No, it’s beyond rude.

I was in the Virgin store for only forty-five minutes when my friend arrived. I was surprised. “It’s almost like you’re early.” I joked.

She smiled. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Never. I’m lucky to be able to be with you when I can be.”

She smiled again.

(See? Not too bad. Not gross.)

We plowed through tray after tray of CD’s. “How about this?” A headshake or nod. “How about this?” Another head shake or nod. After an hour of shaking and nodding we left, twenty dollars the poorer.

“Let’s have a drink.” she suggested.

“Sure.” I looked around, Annabelle’s would be crowded, as usual. “The Sports bar?”

She made a face.

“The hotel must have a bar or lounge.” I said. It did, and it suited my friend. We hurried past the doormen in their long coats and Top Hats and into the lobby. Up the escalator we found the lounge.

“Perfect.” she said settling back on a comfy sofa.

We ordered drinks and stared out the window at the carnival on the street. We’re both ‘people watchers’.

“How was your day?” I asked.

“Good.” she replied. “Yours?”

“Fine. And getting better.” I slid my hand onto hers.” (Smooth, no?)

She smiled yet again. She has a remarkable smile. Really, she does. It’s remarkable because it’s always genuine. She’s incapable of faking a smile. Sounds silly, I know, but it’s true. She can’t do it. I love her smile.

We sipped our drinks and talked in hushed tones. It was nice. Romantic. She slid her shoes off and moved closer to me. I put my arm around her shoulder and she leaned in against me. If there was a better moment in my life I couldn’t remember it.

“Look.” I said.

“What?”

“Over there.”

She turned her head in the direction I was looking. “How sweet.” she said when she spotted the elderly couple across the room. They were cuddled close together, whispering to one another and smiling.

“Isn’t that cute?” my friend sighed.

We watched as the man brushed the woman’s silver hair from her eyes, then caressed her cheek. She patted his thigh, her eyes locked on his.

“That’s so sweet.” my friend repeated looking up at me. “Don’t you think so?”

I nodded. “Think they still…”

“What?”

“You know.”

She looked at the silver-haired couple again then back to me. “You mean…”

“Yeah.”

She crinkled up her nose like she sometimes does. “Eewwww. That’s gross!”

“Whoa, look at the time.” I said, signaling the waiter for our tab.

Also by Matt Simione on SoMa Literary Review:

The New Year , The Friend Theory , Perceptions & Think About It

Matt Simione is a Bay Area writer who has completed two novels, three Screenplays, and a number of short stories.