Bit of Fiction for the Snow

“Have you noticed all of the Gideons scattered in the hallways and corners? The little green one’s are everywhere.” The next sip of coffee was a bit bitter, the best heat of it slowly evaporating. “I think the covers change colors each year, so that means these have been here for a couple of years. Two years.” I paused. “No one will throw them away.” My palms cupped the clay mug, trying to keep the coffee hot. I don’t know why we hang out here. Even if the coffee loses its heat too quickly, the place itself feels musty, humid. Crowed. Students with their laptops hunch beneath florescent green lamps, scarfs unwrapped, draping over high back chairs and trailing the floor. The walls of this shop are covered in cheap paneling, the floors in _____ ______, designed to look like the insides of an oak.

Locals exhibit their acrylics on the walls, with brief statements of purpose posted awkwardly beside the art in fonts like tradewinds or lithograph. In one particular piece I see a brown woman with seaweed for hair floating by. Her waist is off space so that I cannot fully discern if she is a mermaid or not. I can only guess by the way she holds her flower, the way the flower waves to me as if it too is underwater.

Who is with me? Nina from the Santa Marina. Nina with her wispy blonde hair brushing over her left eye. I once called her a tiger and she blushed. Because that is indeed how she also sees herself. She sits down her Mandarin Tea and precedes to tell me about the costume she wore at the faculties’ party last month. Has it really been so long since we’ve talked?
“I wrapped the box in aluminum foil, attached a handle, and carried it at my side. Wasn’t that fabulous? Sylvia–with hair curlers and all. You know, the oven.”
“I thought she overdosed?” I felt so stupid; I should have known this one for sure.
“Well, she did a couple of times, but finally she just stuck her head in an oven.”
Ariel. I see now. She surrounds us in culture.
“Did everyone get it?”
“Hell yeah, I told them what I was going to be before I did it. So yeah, they knew.”
I wouldn’t have.

I bring the clay mug with its wide brim back up to my face and the steam is finally gone. I’m in such an Elliot mood today that I have expect to see his cat roll, smoke around the mahogany legs of tables, chairs, and people which are all fused together this hour. I looked at the floor. Someday I’ll learn the language of tree bark. Cherry, birch, and elm. Soft woods. Vanishing. Skin. But not today, not today.
“Have you ever been boxing?” I ask without looking.
“Boxing? who?” Nina looks at her watch and fidgets with the saucer, a napkin, and a spoon.
“You have class now?”
“Yes, with Charlotte Crown, the transnationalist. Ever have her? She’s fabulous. All about boundaries, mirrors of the self, and the search for home. You should talk to her–anyway, I’ve got to run. Next week at four? Email me.”
I nod as she gathers herself up, walks past with a squeeze to my shoulder. The brown woman catches my line of sight with my last sip. She has put her flower into her hair.