The couple was young and affluent and seemed happy though no one ever really knew.  They ate slowly and had what looked like a polite conversation, about work and school and movies they had seen.  The dinner was finished and they moved to dessert and the coffee, and it was then that the young lady excused herself, full from the meal, leaving the man alone sipping at his drink.  She came back after a prolonged absence and lowered herself gently into her chair, her eyes glassy and her face red and puffed out.

“Are you okay?” asked the man.

“Fine.  Just fine.  Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look strange.  I mean – your face is all red.  You haven’t been crying, have you?”

“Oh, no.  I’m fine, but, yeah, I do feel a little strange.”

“Let me get you some water.”

He waved the waiter over.  A pitcher was brought forth, and the girl’s cup was filled.  She took a long sip.

“Thank you,” she said.  The waiter left them.

“You’re sure you are all right?” the man asked again.

“I said so, didn’t I?  Fine, just fine.”

“Well good.”

The man looked down at his drink and back at her again, at her blue eyes with tears almost dripping and her perfect nose and her perfect little chin.  He leaned forward in his seat, his hands clasped resting on the table uncomfortably, looking closer until he knew it was so, that it was true.  He wanted to say something, but the words would cause trouble as they had so many times before.  It had been such a nice meal, he thought, and it was an even nicer night outside with the light breeze coming off the water and the smell of wood burning in fireplaces, and he did not want to spoil any of it.  He could not help it though.  He went over it in his mind weighing pros and cons as if they were placed upon a scale, and finally, the urge took over him, and he spoke to her, starting quietly and sounding innocent as a newborn lamb.

“Look, I don’t mean to say anything.  I mean, it’s hard, but I have to ask.  Is it…well…is it happening again?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.  You know – It. Is it happening still?”

“Oh, no, not that?  Not for a long time.  I told you it was under control.  I wouldn’t lie.  You don’t think I would lie to you?  Do you?”

“Well no, of course not.  It’s just…you leave and then come back and now you look all red and your eyes are glassy and…”

“Oh, just shut up!” she cut him off, “I would tell you if it happened again.  I mean, can’t I go to the bathroom without getting the third degree?  This is perfect, you know, my own boyfriend saying I’m look like crap, out in public too.  That’s really flattering.  Thank you very much.  I don’t want to hear another word about it!”

“Yeah, of course – I’m sorry, but you can see how it looks.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Well fine, be that way!  I’m just being concerned.”

Their voices had grown loud, and the attention of the restaurant rested upon them.  They tried to ignore the glances and continued their meal in silence.  It was close to the time to leave anyhow.  The waiter was passing then with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.  The man waved him over, stopping him in his tracks.

“Can we just get our bill please?”

“Certainly,” he answered.

The man and woman would not look at each other, choosing instead to take in the paintings on the walls and the street scene below.  The air hung apprehensive, thick with tension, and finally the man spoke, breaking the silence sharply with his words.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, and I’m sorry if I did.  It’s just that I worry.  If you say it isn’t happening, then I believe you.  I do.”

He said the words without meaning them.  He didn’t believe her in truth, but it was better to leave happy than with the hurt still looming between then, and he knew it would do no good either way.

She had been crying.  She dabbed her eyes with the corner of her napkin, a streak of black mascara left it cut in half, and her eyes looked naked without the dark shadows to shape them.  The restaurant had forgotten them already, but still the couple felt the gaze like a film upon their skin.  She let out a deep breath.

“No, it’s alright.  I’m sorry – I know you care, but I’ve worked so hard to get rid of this thing, but it’s just so damn hard.”

“I know.  I know it is.”

“But I’ve been good.  I really have.”

“I’m glad.”

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Honestly?”

“I believe that you have been trying.”

They paid their bill leaving a handsome tip and walked down the narrow stairway leading onto the street.  They could still smell the restaurant on the walk home.  It stayed with them until they reached the apartment.  It didn’t smell as good from the distance, and a bitter taste was left in both of their mouths.  The man held the woman close to him as they walked slowly upon the crumbled pavement, so small next to him, so delicate and so skinny.

“You know you’re beautiful,” he said to her.  He meant it fully.

“Am I?”

“Yes, yes you are.  You are very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she answered, unconvinced, and they unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and left the night behind them.

“Exactly.  Wait, what?”

“You people are fucked up.”

“What?”

“I mean – do you buy this shit?”

“I guess so.  I don’t know.  What the hell are you talking about?”

“This shit just sounds crazy.”

That’s Jacob whispering to me.  He’s a Jew.  He’s the only Jew I know.  He’s new around here.  We both go to a Catholic school on Long Island.  They make us wear green.  Everything is green and yellow with four leaf clovers all over the place.  It’s called St. Patrick’s.  Sister Muriel is the head nun.  She’s tiny, under five feet tall, but she’s scary as hell.  She dresses all in black with one of those weird nun-hats hanging down her back.  Only a few sparse grey hairs come out the sides.  They remind me that she is human.  Her skin is wrinkled and very pale.  I heard she killed a kid a few years back.  She’s insane.  Here eyes are black, the darkest black I’ve ever seen.  She can’t smile.  There’s something wrong with her mouth, and I think her teeth are made of wood.  She’s 197 years old.  She knew Jesus I think.  They used to play bridge on Thursday nights.  We have to watch out, but Jacob’s getting too loud.  His voice booms, bouncing about the classroom like a rubber ball.  He continues, unaware of his increasing volume.

“So, this guy died for your sins, but you weren’t alive yet, but it still counts for you?  Doesn’t someone else have to die for the new sins?  I mean, people sin every day.  Just because some guy gets nailed up on a cross two thousand years ago, that makes some shit you do now all okay?”

“It’s original sin dude.”

“What’s that?”

“Adam and Eve’s sin.  It’s a black mark on your soul.  Even babies have it, before they can talk.”

“What?  What’s the logic in that?”

“It’s not about logic; it’s just how it is man.  We’re born bad.  Gotta get baptized first.  You better get on that shit because you’re going down if you don’t.”

“If I don’t what?”

“You gotta accept Jesus into your heart.  Personal saviour.  Then you’re set.  Jews man, I don’t know.  I hear a lot of bad shit about you guys.”

“I’m not going to just take some guy I don’t know as my saviour!  What do you mean about the Jews?  What did we do to anyone?  We get fucked with for thousands of years, and everyone is still pissed at us?  What did we do?”

“You killed Jesus bro.  It doesn’t get much worse than that.”

“But he was a Jew!”

“Yeah, but he got over that shit.”

“I’m pretty sure he was a Jew, dude.”

“Well, I don’t think so.”

The old nun hears us.  Everything is quiet in the room.  She stops the lecture, and she’s staring right over here.  She’s standing still as a statue with bird shit all over her head.  I think she’s ready to pounce on the both of us, like a cat before taking out a bird.  We’re just a couple of sparrows, and she’s a fucking lioness.  She’ll take Jacob out first though.  He’s Jewish after all.  I have Jesus all up in my shit.  Jacob is a fish out of water, but he had no choice but to be here.  Jacob’s mom made him come because it is the best school in the area.  She never thought how awkward things might get for him.  Personally, I like the guy.  He’s different from all the rest of them.  They’re like animals.  This school is filled with a bunch of crazy ass spoiled rich kids.  I’m not rich.  My parents like to pretend that we’re rich, but my dad works three jobs, and my mom tries to keep up airs with the house.  My grandparents pay for my tuition.  They’re actually really rich.  My grandfather was a judge.  My mom just fakes it, always decorating or getting new things we don’t need.  Everything in our house is from TJ Maxx.  Everything is half off.  I’m pretty sure that Jacob’s family is real rich because they’re Jewish, and I hear that all Jewish people are rich.

The nun walks over to us.  She moves like some sort of Ogre, hiding out under a bridge.  I wonder if she wants a toll.  She limps a little, and she is hunched over slightly.  She has to raise her head just to see straight.  Her fingers are bony, and you can see her knuckles like knots on the limb of a tree.  We both freeze.  If we stand still, she won’t be able to see us.  That makes sense.  We hold our breath and avert our eyes.  She could tear both of our hearts out at any moment.  She’s got fangs.  They’ll be nothing left of us.

“Do you two…” she says slowly, “have anything you would like to share with the rest of the class?”

“No ma’am,” said Jacob.  He stammers.  I think he’s more scared that I am.  He doesn’t get the nun thing yet.  I kick him under his desk.

“No sister,” I correct him.   This guy needs to get on board for Christ’s sake.

She seems satisfied and ambles back towards the chalkboard.  There are Latin words written upon it.  I don’t know how to pronounce them or what they mean, but understanding isn’t as important as accepting.  We exhale.  That was a close call, but, for some reason, the fear fades as fast as it first came.  Just a few minutes later, Jacob is leaning back again, whispering like a blow horn at a basketball game.

“And what’s the deal with the oil and the whole baptism thing anyway?  Why would you take a kid and hold them under water?  How does that take some sin that they didn’t do but they need to get rid of just in case they die?  I just think that it’s cruel.  The baby has no idea what’s going on!  They have no fucking choice!”

“Dude, what are you talking about?  You guys are way worse.  You’re sadists.”

“What do you mean?”

“You cut your dick’s off for Yahweh or whatever you call him.”

“We don’t cut them off.  We just sort of clip them.  It’s called a bris.”

“And that makes more sense?”

“Man, it’s the covenent.”

“What’s that?”

“A long fucking time ago,” he says, “God chose us.”

“Chose you for what?”

“He just chose us.  We’re the chosen people, and we get circumcised so he can tell that we’re Jews.”

“But he’s God, right?”

“Yahweh.  Shit, I’m not supposed to say that.  I always forget about that.  But yeah, he’s God.”

“Wait, you’re not supposed to say what?”

“His name.  The Y word.”

“Why not?  Ha ha.  Why not.  Get it?”

“Shut up.  We just don’t.  I think it’s bad luck or something.  I don’t know.  It’s a mystery.”

“So wait.  He’s God.  Why does he need you to cut off your dicks to tell if you’re Jews?  Shouldn’t he just know?  Why the hell would he make you people do that?  Man, I’m sorry to say this…but I think that Yahweh dude is fucking with you guys.  Hardcore.”

“How about your Guy?  What the hell is up with all the standing, sitting, the kneeling?  It’s like aerobics in there.  He’s making you dance.”

“That’s true.”

“We can both agree on that then.”

“Sure.  Whoever or whatever the hell he or she or it is,” I say, “Well, it sure does have a good time messing with all of us down here

Maria worked in seafood at the back.  She was in her early twenties, people could tell that, but she never said exactly how old she was, and Margaret in human resources was the one person who didn’t join in on the gossip.  She had a son named Enrique, and he came in time to time, but she was too young when she had him, and he went to live with her mother while she jumped around from apartment to apartment with her boyfriend.  Word was that her boyfriend went to jail then, some said for burglary and others that he killed a man, but you can’t really know, and she didn’t offer the information.  She was nice, but there was a faint veil of sadness over her at times, and she looked down at the ground before someone would tell her to give them a smile.  She obliged instinctively, but then she blushed like a child and she spoke so softly you had to lean forward to make out her words, as if she were ashamed of the sound of her voice.

The party was actually being held at Michael’s house, and Maria had come along at the behest of her friend Mollie who worked with her in Seafood, cutting the heads off of wild salmon and organic halibut that went for almost twenty-five dollars a pound.  Michael, their host, had just turned eighteen, but he acted like a college professor with his tenure in the bag, criticising and exacting every action that occurred before him.  More accurately, it was Michael’s mom’s house.  She was out of town and could care less if he had people over, but she didn’t know about the drugs because he never told her, and she never asked anyway.  He was a bagger in the front end but he didn’t put many groceries into bags.  He often offered his opinions to the other departments.  No one listened, and he annoyed some of the people in the store, but the house was huge and there was a pool, so they always came regardless.  It was a going away party for Carl and Steven in specialty.  They were moving together to New York, just like Rob in Bakery and Isam in Grocery had.  Others had left before them, but they all came back eventually, all except for Stailer.  He left almost two years ago.  He worked in the vitamin section and went off even though he was dating Maria at the time.  She was upset, but she could do nothing about it.  Stailer was strange in his ways.  There was no changing his mind, and she didn’t want to have to.  No one had thought of him for some time, and he sat lurking in the back of all of their minds, like a fond memory that hurt to recall.

Music came from the living room which opening onto the screened pool area by way of two huge wooden and glass doors.  There were people mixing drinks in the kitchen with shot glasses lying strewn about like cactus in a desert, green, brown and yellow liquors mixed arbitrarily into murky shotglasses.  The house was huge – it was just outside of town, but the area was not rural.  The lawns around the neighbourhood were manicured like a girl’s fingernails with huge metal fences around each of the yards and gates to let the owners into the long paved driveways and to keep others at bay.  It was one of those communities with a name like Cyprus Meadows or something close to it.  There were no Cyprus trees within a hundred miles of the house nor was there a square inch of land left undeveloped, but the name made the residents feel exclusive, not just living on a numbered street like the rest, part of something more sophisticated, much more high-class.  The houses were spaced far enough apart that no neighbours could hear a thing from the others though the music drifted into the hot night air like smoke from a campfire, and people yelled out loudly and laughed, swaying drunkenly with bottles dangling in their hands and smiles upon their faces, their eyes glassy from the pot and the booze, and the knowledge that no police would ever come

Stailer never came to work functions when he was around, and no one knew what he did with his spare time.  He rarely spoke, but, when he did, it was always something quite unique, something that only he would say, like the ramblings of a wise man or an insane person or a drunk.  It was refreshing to those who knew him, and people wanted to talk to him, to just be around him, but he showed little interest in the people at the store.  It wasn’t as if he was rude or mean in any way – he listened to what others had to say and commented or just nodded his head and smiled politely – it was that he just didn’t get involved in the same issues that circulated throughout the aisles.  His opinions on most things were unknown, but he had a charisma about him that drew others in his direction, a magnetism that could not be denied.  He went to New York because he was a writer and an agent had suggested that he go to the city to experience Manhattan and the Village.  She said it would do his writing good to be around other artists, with the parties and the connections and the night life in the city.  He went year ago and no one had heard from him since.  He had a short story published in the New Yorker quite near the time of the party, and everyone at the store bought the issue or took it off the shelves to read on their lunches.  It was all about a girl who lived in a little cave just outside of a town.  She would watch the people all the time from the woods outside of their homes, not like a stalker or a pervert, but more like a mother watching her children, protecting them.  She did this for years, and, one day, she came upon one of the townspeople unexpectedly in the woods taking a short cut.  She had seen him before – he was her favourite since she had begun watching – but she had nothing to say when their eyes met.  After that, she left and went further back into the woods and never came close to them again.  It was a good story, and everyone liked it.

As the night edged its way towards the next morning, more and more people visited the house and joined in the festivities.  It came to two o’ clock, and the house began to look like a battleground, bodies strewn here and there with the bass from the stereo booming in the background, cymbals crashing like gunfire.  People went in and out of the house, screaming nonsense and going back in again with crazy looks on their faces.  Others fell into the pool, some were pushed, and every once in a while a splash could be heard followed with either harsh words or laughter or sometimes both.  Maria sat beside the pool talking with Sonia from prepared foods.  They were good friends, and Maria told her things that she kept close to her, deep inside where no one else went.  Sonia was always there for Maria, she had a child very young as well, and the two offered support to one another.  Back when Stailer left Maria so suddenly, Sonia offered advice and helped her though, and, now, Maria barely thought of him at all.  Maria loved her like a sister, and Sonia was glad to have her.

As the two girls sat by the pool outside talking about the new guy in bakery and what they thought of the way he wore his bandana almost over his eyes, a noise rang out from the front of the house – someone arriving so late in the night.

“Who’s that?” Maria asked herself as she lay back upon the chair, watching the beer bottles float along in the water like tiny rafts on the sea. Everyone was there already, had either come or gone by then, and she just stayed sitting by Sonia although the conversation had grown quiet.  She thought that it might be Gean from the cleaning crew or even Mark.  He moved back home, to the west coast, but he came back all the time, meeting up with work people.  He even tried to get his old job back, but it had been taken and he was left with being a bagger as his only option.  It could be him, she thought.  It must be Mark.

“Do you need another drink?” asked Sonia as she lifted herself from the lounger carefully, slowly like an elderly person.              “No…I’m done already.  Oh, dios mio.  I don’t drink often enough for this,” said Maria.

“You need to practice.  People think this comes so easy, but it’s hard work I’ll tell you.”

“I think I do.  I’m sure you’ll help.”

“No problemo.”

“Gracias,” she answered.

They both laughed and Sonia disappeared back into the dim glow of the house like a magician after his act had finished.  Maria’s thoughts began to drift to her son, Enrique.  He was at his grandmother’s house for the night, but he would be back with her tomorrow.  She did not get to go out often, and it was a special treat to be rid of him until the next afternoon.  It was not as if she thought of him as a burden, far from it, but it was difficult being so young with so many responsibilities.  She closed her eyes and thought of how she had decided to give him up before he was born, before she saw his face.  At the last minute, she changed her mind, and she felt sorry for Mr. and Mrs. Heller, but he was her son, and she had the right.

She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and she thought it was Sonia back with her drink.  When she turned, she saw that it wasn’t her at all, and when her eyes adjusted to the faint light, she realised who it was who had come into the house.  For a moment, she could make no sound.  She sat up on the chair and looked away and back again, as if she thought he was a mirage or a ghost that had come in the night.  She was still feeling the effects of the alcohol, and she looked down at her feet – her shoes had been lost sometime during the night and she was barefoot – and she found that she could not look up again although she wanted to very much.  Stailer sat down next to her on the chair, cracked open the beer, and put the cold can into her tiny hands.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“I’m visiting my family.  My grandfather is sick.  I’m only here for a few days, but I was going to call you.  I wanted to see you.”

“Well, here I am,” she replied kurtly.

Maria thought about how upset she had been when Stailer left for New York.  She thought that they had something, but sometimes that means different things to different people, and she knew that it did with her and Stailer.  He was the last person she had been with even though it was almost a year ago – there was no one else after him.  She was a pretty girl – Maria was asked out on dates often – but she would not settle for just anyone.  She had been so guarded since her relationship with Miguel, Enrique’s father.  It was good at first, but then the drugs and the other women began to show through, and all while she was with a child.  When she left him, she swore that she would never again give herself so freely, but that was before Stailer.  At first he was a friend, a good one, but things changed, and he was so kind, not at all like Miguel was when he was drunk and high.  Stailer loved Enrique too – he would take him to the park and play with him, but she always knew that he put his writing first, and, even though he treated her so well and she knew that he liked her very much, she always thought that he would leave someday.  Now he was back, just a few inches from her.  She wanted him to take her in his arms, but she knew that it would do no good.  Not anymore.  They both stared at the water as the light danced upon the surface in tiny waves.

“New York is great.  I’m really busy, and there are so many other writers to talk with.  One of my stories was accepted by a big magazine recently.  Did you see it?”

“I have it.”

“I’m working on a new one right now.  It’s about a girl who loves to dance, but she won’t show anyone at all, not even her parents.  She practices by herself all the time.  Then, one day, a boy from her neighbourhood sees her.  She’s embarrassed.  He tries to convince her to go to the dance at their school, but she won’t do it.  She makes excuses.  He’s heartbroken.”

“Maybe she just doesn’t want to dance with him.  Maybe she’s waiting for someone else.”

“Maybe,” he said, “Maybe she is.”

They both went quiet then, and the music turned to a soft song that they remembered from when they were together.  They just listened to the music as the party continued around them, slowing like a top that has begun its wobble.  The song reminded them of times that had passed, and they both closed their eyes and pretended like it was not so long ago.  Stailer passed his arm over Maria’s head and pulled her closer to him.

“When do you go back?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered her.

“That’s not so far away.”

“No, no it’s not.  It’s not so far away.  Is it?”