Hunter Gatherer
by
Rachel Hoffman
He put his hand on your thigh?
We were at lunch, in a café, like now.
There were other times?
Only a touch.
You liked it?
His hand was on my knee. He talked about a waterfall on a boulder surrounded by nothing but mist and old growth trees.
Oh god.
It was a poem whose rhyme was up to me to form.
Uh, the excitement must have overwhelmed.
I closed my eyes and smelled morels, ruffled collars from rotted logs.
All this before the main course?
I was sitting across a table from Eros!
Had you ordered?
I sat there with my mouth open.
Like me, right now.
He talked about how the air we breathe is inhaled by others.
Lila, I’d have been out of there so fast… when did this happen?
He isn’t crazy.
Psychopaths are convincing.
He made a certain sort of sense.
They always make sense. Did you go home with him?
He asked if I’d ever hunted for truffles. He said our next date should be to forage. With his dog.
Ah, he had you with the dog, didn’t he?
Have you ever tasted truffles? They smell like wet soil or evergreens and sex.
There we go.
What could I do? My breath was inside him. His in me. The connection, you know...
And they’ll never find your body. Have you googled him?
When did you become so cynical?
It’s Ginny, here. I’ve always been cynical. This isn’t a curb, it’s a cliff.
He held the promise –
Of what?
Passion. You think I’ve been myself the past half-decade?
You have been, Lila, for me, yes.
Remember we swore never to settle?
We were children.
Why should now be different?
I’ve got a job, Lila, a husband, a child.
You like the path you chose, Gin. Wish the same for me?
You think I don’t?
Do you hear music anymore?
Of course. This truffle-man, with his promises, what do you expect from him?
He’s made no promises.
You said you weren’t going to walk away from the promise.
Gin, do you remember the summer we sold lemonade? We sat at the curb and held hands.
I took my mom out for ice cream with my share.
My mom made me put the coins in my piggy bank. I bent a knife prying the coins out of the pig’s back and bought clackers for my bicycle wheels.
You stole from your own future.
I spent what was mine…
I’ll buy my mushrooms at Safeway.
And I’ll find mine in not so safe a way.
Axe murderer. Collector. Serial killer.
People who wait at the curb are run over, too.
Oh, Lila. It was a long time ago we sold lemonade and held hands.
Less long ago, we were more than friends.
Youthful curiosity.
You ran, Gin, and never looked back.
The hand on my thigh at one time was yours. Did you ever really see me?
Maybe I never did.
And now?
We were at lunch, in a café, like now.
There were other times?
Only a touch.
You liked it?
His hand was on my knee. He talked about a waterfall on a boulder surrounded by nothing but mist and old growth trees.
Oh god.
It was a poem whose rhyme was up to me to form.
Uh, the excitement must have overwhelmed.
I closed my eyes and smelled morels, ruffled collars from rotted logs.
All this before the main course?
I was sitting across a table from Eros!
Had you ordered?
I sat there with my mouth open.
Like me, right now.
He talked about how the air we breathe is inhaled by others.
Lila, I’d have been out of there so fast… when did this happen?
He isn’t crazy.
Psychopaths are convincing.
He made a certain sort of sense.
They always make sense. Did you go home with him?
He asked if I’d ever hunted for truffles. He said our next date should be to forage. With his dog.
Ah, he had you with the dog, didn’t he?
Have you ever tasted truffles? They smell like wet soil or evergreens and sex.
There we go.
What could I do? My breath was inside him. His in me. The connection, you know...
And they’ll never find your body. Have you googled him?
When did you become so cynical?
It’s Ginny, here. I’ve always been cynical. This isn’t a curb, it’s a cliff.
He held the promise –
Of what?
Passion. You think I’ve been myself the past half-decade?
You have been, Lila, for me, yes.
Remember we swore never to settle?
We were children.
Why should now be different?
I’ve got a job, Lila, a husband, a child.
You like the path you chose, Gin. Wish the same for me?
You think I don’t?
Do you hear music anymore?
Of course. This truffle-man, with his promises, what do you expect from him?
He’s made no promises.
You said you weren’t going to walk away from the promise.
Gin, do you remember the summer we sold lemonade? We sat at the curb and held hands.
I took my mom out for ice cream with my share.
My mom made me put the coins in my piggy bank. I bent a knife prying the coins out of the pig’s back and bought clackers for my bicycle wheels.
You stole from your own future.
I spent what was mine…
I’ll buy my mushrooms at Safeway.
And I’ll find mine in not so safe a way.
Axe murderer. Collector. Serial killer.
People who wait at the curb are run over, too.
Oh, Lila. It was a long time ago we sold lemonade and held hands.
Less long ago, we were more than friends.
Youthful curiosity.
You ran, Gin, and never looked back.
The hand on my thigh at one time was yours. Did you ever really see me?
Maybe I never did.
And now?
NUNUM
Blending Flash Fiction & Art
