bus.
“I still can’t believe what happened with my roommate and your friend.”
Jocelyn rubbed her irritated eyes. “He’s a real winner. A keeper.”
“I know. I feel bad about it.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I thought you’d think because I live with him that I—”
“I don’t.” She rubbed her eyes more vigorously.
“Are you okay?”
“Allergies.” She sounded like she just got whacked with a wicked cold.
“That sucks.”
“It does. I cannot wait to get the fuck out of here.”
“You going somewhere?”
“New York.”
“To visit?”
“To live.”
I felt a sting. “Cool,” I said. “When?”
“Middle of August.”
“That’s only a month away.”
“Less. Three weeks and some change.”
“You going for good?”
“Who knows?” Her eyes were red-raw. She tried blinking some relief into them. “People are going to think you made me cry.”
TWO NIGHTS LATER Jocelyn and I were sharing a smoke on the bench in front of the Amherst Post Office. I had less than a month to talk her out of moving.
“How could you even think of moving? You just met me.”
“Please. New York is crawling with guys singler than you.”
“That’s not even a real word.”
“Yes it is. So is wealthier. New York is crawling with men singler and wealthier than you.”
“I knew it. A gold digger.”
“That’s me: in it for the money. Like Gandhi.”
“All the guys in New York are junkies,” I said. “I read in the Times the other day—”
“The New York Times?”
“That every year, thousands of people get hep C just from riding the New York subway.”
“Oh, they do, do they? I mustn’t have read the paper that day.” She was entertained. She had a smile that even she couldn’t stop once it started. “What day was that?”
“And the promise of hep C is what they use to attract tourists.”
“I see.”
“Hep C and the possibility of getting spermed on by homeless guys.”
“Eww. Fun is fun, but now you’re just being sick.”
“Come on,” I said. “Tell me with a straight face that you didn’t think that was funny.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“Bullshit. You’re laughing.”
“I’m laughing now, at the ridiculousness of this little . . . I don’t even know what to call it . . . this little dance.”
“Don’t change the subject. I know you thought it was funny.”
“Oh, so you can tell what I’m thinking?”
“Yes.”
“What am I thinking?”
I rubbed her temples. “You’re thinking, Moving to New York is a mistake. An el giganto mistake.”
She slapped my hands from her head. “Have you ever been to New York?”
“Come on. Have I ever been to New York.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“Recently, my fucking ass.” She laughed. “You know dick about New York.”
“Hey, listen here, toilet mouth. I find your language patently offensive.”
“You should talk.”
“Yes, I should. And I will. If anyone knows New York, it’s me.”
The last time I’d been to New York City was on a high school trip. I fucking hated it, not because New York blew per se, but it really brought out the more sophisticated urban asshole in some of the suburban assholes I went to school with.
“Is that so?” Jocelyn asked. “Mr. Zagat’s. Mr. Hepatic. Mr. Homeless Spermer.”
At that moment I definitely wanted to partake in frequent and varied sex acts with her. But way more than that, I just wanted to be around her. It’s corny as fuck but true: If someone had told me I could freeze any minute and spend the rest of my life in it, I would have picked Jocelyn and me sitting on that bench in front of the Amherst Post Office. But who the fuck has the power to grant that kind of perpetual happiness? And if they did have it, why would they wield it on my behalf?
“I know there’s nothing for you in New York,” I said.
“And Amherst is what, the world capital of culture and opportunity?”
“It is.” I flung open my arms like Mary Tyler Moore at the end of the opening credits. “Everything you need—and I don’t mean some slick job or material shit, but the important stuff—is all right here.”
“Really? Like what kind of important stuff?”
“The important stuff. Hey, are you hungry? I’m fucking starving. Want to split a foo yung at Hunan the Barbarian’s?”
“You know what I think?” she asked. “I think you love distraction.”
“Did you say something?”
She was free with her hands. She punched me in the stomach.
“Someone help me, please!” I called out. She hit me again, but harder. “I’d puke right now, but I’m so hungry, there’s nothing in my stomach to puke.” I faked a retch.
“You love distraction. Maybe more than anybody I’ve ever met.”
“I told you I was different.”
“You might be.” She kissed