Today was a shitty, boring day. The school district I work for requires quarterly writing assessments to prove my students are learning. Which really just means I sat at the back of my classroom all day, watching thirty teenagers stress over essays they didn’t care about. Riveting stuff.
By the time I got home, I was exhausted and bored. It was a relief to kick off my shoes and text Ben.
Liz: I’m home. Call if you can.
Ben: No privacy right now, text instead?
Ben’s two flatmates are noisy and rather rude. Once, I called and one of them asked me what bra size I wore. He refused to give the phone back until I answered. I hung up. To be fair, he was drunk—but still, uncomfortable doesn’t even cover it.
Ben: So how was the day?
Liz: Same shit, different day.
Ben: I hear you.
Liz: How about you?
Ben: I caught part of a race after work, actually. That was pretty neat.
Liz: Like an official race or some guys drag racing up the road?
Ben’s a racing nut. He’s gotten in trouble (with me) for drag racing once or twice. Absolute worst habit.
Ben: Hahaha, official. Although you just made the coolest part of my day seem a bit less cool.
Liz: Official, planned races are less cool than dangerous, unlawful ones?
Ben: Yes. Have I taught you nothing?
Liz: Hahaha
I flip channels while I wait for Ben to start a new topic. See, I’m content with silence. Ben knows by now that if small talk’s going to happen, it’s on him. Most people would let the lull stretch until we both gave up and went to bed.
Ben: I forgot to tell you what happened to Zach.
Zach’s one of Ben’s flatmates. He drinks too much, he’s goofy, he’s a slut, and he has absolutely no filter. Once, I compared him to the dirty version of the roommate from Notting Hill and made Ben laugh so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Liz: What did he do now?
Ben: He realized yesterday the woman he’s been seeing, from Bristol, is actually the sister of a woman he was with months ago.
Liz: Seriously? How did that come up?
Ben: He went to pick her up at her flat and the sister was there!
Liz: What did he do?
Ben: Played dumb and got punched.
Liz: By which girl?
Ben: The sister. Bloody hilarious.
I chuckle, picturing Ben trying to hold back laughter while Zach nursed a black eye. A chill runs through the room and I grab a blanket for my legs. It’s late for Ben now, the hour when he’ll take the conversation somewhere dirtier—if he’s going to. Midnight Ben is different from midday Ben. Midnight Ben has needs.
And I feel the familiar tingle, remembering last night.
Ben: Send me a picture.
