Page 133 of Cackle

“I’m selling encyclopedias,” he says.

“Yeah?” I say.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve got J, W and, I think, U? I’ll have to check on that.”

“Please. I’m most interested in you.”

“See what I did there?” he asks, grinning. He has a dimple. I forgot about the dimple.

How could I forget about the dimple? I want to stick my finger in it. Have I ever done that before? How could I not?

Was it always there? Is it new?

He looks different. I don’t know if he’s changed or if he was altered in my memory.

“Did you spend the whole drive coming up with the setup for that line?” I ask.

“Just the last hour,” he says.

“Come in,” I tell him, moving aside so he can step into the stairway. He begins to climb, and I follow behind him, examining his butt on the way up.

It’s a good butt. The butt I remember.

“It’s nice up here,” he says. “Quaint.”

“You mean upstate?”

He opens the door to my apartment and steps inside. It’s strange to see him in this space. Two lives colliding. He looks around, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says, setting his backpack down on the coffee table. “Upstate. Your apartment. Very nice.”

“You want something to drink?” I ask him. “Water?”

“Yeah, I’ll have some water. Bathroom?”

“That door right there,” I say, pointing.

I leave him to it, heading into the kitchen to get him some water. As I’m reaching for a glass, I notice there’s a spider on the shelf. It’s a small one, much smaller than Ralph, even at his normal size. The spider stays perfectly still.

“Don’t worry,” I tell it. “You can stay here.”

It doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

I’m suddenly stricken with a profound devastation over Ralph’s absence. I miss him. The thought of never seeing him again, it weakens my knees. Literally weakens them. I have to lean against the counter to keep myself standing.

“You okay?” Sam asks. He’s behind me.

“Yeah,” I say. “I went running this morning. My legs are sore.”

“Remember when we used to go running?”

“Yeah,” I say, “I remember.”

I fill the glass and hand it to him. He drinks it down, then puts the empty glass in the sink.

“So,” he says, “this is where you’ve been.”

“This is where I’ve been,” I repeat. Somehow, I didn’t anticipate reuniting with my ex being so awkward.