Marathon

Joe Matar

November 2005

"Oh, uh, definitely, yeah." She sits down. Her hair bounces up and down momentarily and then resettles in slow-mo like a shampoo commercial.

"It's just so random to find you here. I just stopped here for, um, a couple days." She puts her hand through her hair and rotates her eyes upward and to the right.

"Oh..." I should ask her something about herself. "Where are you headed?"

"Seeing friends all over really. I just graduated and decided to take a little road trip before going headfirst into a job or something."

"On your own?" Ooh, ballsy little question there. Where'd that come from?

"Yeah." She smiles. "You don't have to fight over what music you're going to listen to in the car." Cute.

"Good point, good point."

"Oh, but what am I doing, I'm here with one of my favorite authors and I'm talking about my stupid road trip."

"That's okay. I'm really not that interesting." There was a compliment in there. "Oh! Thank you."

"Two bear steak?" Waitress.

"Oh, yeah, thanks." She sets it down and looks at both me and Molly, smiling.

"Enjoy it," she says, looking me square in the eye as she walks off. Lady, I really don't need your subtle commentary right now. I pick up my fork and knife. My insides feel as though they're engaged in fisticuffs but the steak gives me an excuse not to maintain eye contact every second. I know it's supposed to be important but is it ever a trial.

"Uh...you mind if I–?"

"Oh, go right ahead, I ate already." I start cutting into my two bears.

"Well, I, um," Molly begins again. "I think you write really good stuff. Really, really good stuff. Your two books were some of the best things I've read in awhile, I think."

"Thanks. Thanks very much."

She smiles widely. Boy, that's a nice smile.

"Would you mind me asking if–are you working on anything right now?"

"Oh...yeah. Yeah, I guess I am." The smile extends further. Didn't think it was possible.

"Cool! Could I ask you what it was about or is that crossing a line? I–I try to write sometimes. It's not very good but I know I don't really like to–"

"No no, it's fine. I've got no fucking clue what it's gonna be about anyway."

She laughs. She looks pretty when she laughs. She sounds pretty too.

"Sorry to hear that."

"You said you write?" I ask, as I eat a bite of steak. Good move there, I'd say, asking her about herself. Besides, I truly have no desire to talk about me anymore.

"Oh! It's, I mean, it's nothing special. I've written a couple little stories. I have some ideas. I dunno." She starts fidgeting with her fingers. "Nothing I'm too proud of yet."

"Well that's a step ahead of me. I'm not at all proud of anything I've done." I push out a smile.

"Oh, don't say that!" she abruptly puts her hands, palms down, on the table in order to emphasize this point. "You're really one of the better new writers I've read. I mean, really, I think that. I know my opinion hardly holds a lot of water or anything but–"

"No, no, it does. 'Official' reviews always strike me as pretentious. They try to make too much out of the work."

"Did the New York Times not like you?" she smirks.

"No, they liked me fine. They just said it in a dickish way."

She laughs.

"Dickish, right."

"Yeah, this is what I've become."

"If you could put the word 'dickish' somewhere in your next book, I'd really appreciate it."

"It's the title, actually."

I don't know that it was that funny but Molly laughs loud enough for Billy to tilt his head into the room.

My steak is done now so I don't have the comfort of looking down at it. Things could get difficult here.

"You probably don't really want to keep talking about your work right? I was just thinking I really don't like people asking about my writing." She's looking right at me.

"Well–no, not...I don't mind it for a bit but, yeah, I don't particularly care for it, honestly."

"No, I understand. So...what are you doing in this little rest stop? You headed somewhere?"

"Uh, I live here right now, actually."

"What, really?" Her eyes open wide. I nod.

"If you don't mind me asking, why?"

"You know, I'm not sure really."

"Is it a good place to write?"

"It's not really a good place for anything." My eyes keep researching the table top. Molly chuckles.

"Yeah, this place does seem pretty dead. Except for that guy out there who's always dancing. He's like a party all by himself." I laugh quite genuinely.

"Yeah, that's Franklin. He's like my best friend right now. Started blabbering at me first day I saw him."

"That's funny, he put his head down or took a drink anytime I tried to talk to him."

"Yeah..."

What now? I can't think of anymore nonsense to churn out. I grin nervously at her. She looks straight at me. Look around the room. Follow a pattern: top left corner, that other carving of the three bears, Molly, booth behind and to the right of us, Billy over in the bar, Molly.

"Oh, jeez, look at the time," she says abruptly. "I was gonna leave tonight. I've got friends expecting me in Jersey. They thought I'd be there yesterday." She seems to be focusing in precisely on my right eye.

"Well, uh, it was very nice to meet you," I say.

She waits a moment and then breaks the stare.

"Yeah," she breathes out. "It was great to meet you."

I stand up. She stands up next. We walk through the bar (Billy greets) and outside. Franklin's out here, running in place or doing the Running Man, I'm not sure which. He puts his head down as we come out. Molly turns to me.

"I never would have thought I'd run into you here."

"Yeah, hah, here I am," I say. Oh, that was atrocious.

"Well, uh, do you need a ride or something?"

"Oh, no...thanks. I live right up the street."

"Good to know," she says sort of flatly. I reach out to shake her hand. I should do something here. Do I pull her closer and kiss her? That's a little too much too soon, isn't it? Do I ask for her number? Wouldn't she have given me her number already if she wanted to? Or does it not work like that? I wish Franklin wasn't eyeing us despite being so involved in his workout.

"Well," she brushes some locks out of her eyes. "Bye."

"Goodbye." She turns and walks toward her car. She gets in, starts it, pokes her head out the window and waves. My mind is fighting with me, tossing tons of different ideas at me. I elect to smile and wave back.

"Bye, Franklin," she says. Franklin's head shoots up in complete shock and then quickly goes back down again. The car pulls out and drives off towards the exit to the I-81.

I deeply suck in some air and start off towards the road.

"Ey, writer!" Franklin, breathing heavily as he continues to trot in place, suddenly starts as though whatever he has to say is so important it could only be communicated now that we're alone.

"Yeah Franklin?"

"Remember what I said! B, Q! Q! P! X, Y, X, Y! L!"

"Isn't that a little different from last time?"

"New addishuns!" he responds as though he was expecting to have to field this question. "Don't forget!"

"You got it."

I arrive home and flick on the light by my computer. I sit down and wiggle the mouse. The screen illuminates with the blank document I've come so accustomed to seeing. My eyes squint as I jam my fingers down upon the keys. BQQQQQQQPPPPPPLLLLLLLXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXYXY

This is great. I'll have a whole page soon.

Joe Matar recently graduated, earning a degree in film. He currently lives in an apartment in Jersey City with his sister and another girl who is of Russian descent. It sounds like a sitcom but it's really more boring than that.

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