Richard Kind

Marta lifts her cup.

"'I'm going out with my girlfriends after work,' she says."

and the ease with which she lies never fails to sting him.

In her day job, she works the flight from Dayton to Chicago, and three hours later, the return flight.

He imagines her biding time between flights at the terminal sports bar with her fellow crew members, filling the space with laughter.

And he cannot help but imagine her later that night

on stage, topless, gyrating before a room full of gloomy men.

Why won't you just tell me, he wants to shout.

But the reason is likely because she is ashamed.

So instead he mumbles, drive safe.

And then awkwardly, he waves goodbye.

And then it's just him in the apartment.

He wishes he could dash outside, wave Marta down, and when she rolls down the window, he would say, let's talk, please.

We used to share everything.

But then he imagines her saying, fine, what do you want to discuss?

And in this scenario, he would not muster the courage to put into words how he felt about

No, what he really wants is for her to turn back and say, I miss you.

I miss our talks.

Let's fix things.

And he would casually agree, as if he had not given this much thought, that his heart would beat furiously, and he would summon all willpower to refrain from breaking down and telling her how lost he has felt since they drifted apart.