Some Night by Suzanne Bump
He was wagging his cigarette at its reflection in the tip jar, the cigarette blooming each time it tilted towards. The world through a fish-eye, Dave behind him at the grill looking miniature and fuzzy. He pulled himself up, glancing past the few empty tables and window-bar outside. Wind ripped up from the lake, fighting the snow that spun from streetlights.
“Alright, let’s close her up,” he said, standing there behind the counter. The streets were not deserted, the bars and restaurants doing brisk business with students and thirty-somethings like himself. Another world, behind the glass. He went out back, holding the door to let Dave out first, then shut out the lights and locked the cranky door.
Though he knew he couldn’t get his cigarette lit in the bone-chafing wind he tried anyway and failed. Once he got to the Volvo he started it up and lit his cigarette. Sarah had asked him not to smoke in the car, for the baby or something, though they both knew she just didn’t like him smoking. On the ride home he smoked with the window open, snow rearing at the windshield. Every night cars disappear the second you leave Burlington, tracks running dead in the middle of the highway.
His fourth cigarette he lit in the silent driveway, window still open and snow noisily falling into the car. Burning sound as he dragged. It piled up on the window sill at his upper-arm, each flake a moment or a thought, a day, a year. To him they were visible feelings of sameness. He sat with the nub in his hand. If he didn’t move he could almost not exist.
Inside Sarah slept and he tried, the baby sleeping in the other room. A whole country sleeping underneath the snow. Why this fantasy, always; a great Absence? With her back turned to him he watched the rise and fall of her side, him an observer of his own life, and this somehow comforting. Wave to yourself there behind the counter. Drive yourself to a grave and dump my body in. Forget. One more night.
***
About the Author Suzanne Bump Born: Dorchester, MA Now Resides: Hadley, MA Bio: I write after working the morning shift at the RMV to make my brain stop the numbers. The RMV gets all types. This is my first submission ever and my first published work.
***
image by fahrmboy.