Womens Fiction

And Now You Can Go by Vendela Vida

By Vendela Vida

A gun is pointed at 21-year-old Ellis as she walks via a brand new York park. even supposing she escapes unhurt she is left psychologically reeling. Over the following couple of weeks Ellis retains all people at bay: the police, suitors who are looking to keep her, and the collage therapist who tricks that her sweaters are too tight. but if Ellis accompanies her mom, a nurse, on a venture within the Philippines, she reveals the existence - no matter if held up - can't be held again, and neither, eventually, can she.

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I think, Next he's going to suck on my finger. He lifts my hand to his mouth. Next, he's going to turn me over and bite my shoulder blade. My right one. He does. He's going to trace my navel, say it looks like a coin slot. "Coin slot," he says. He's going to ask me if I'm sure, if I'm comfortable, if I'm okay. " he says as he enters me. Everything is precisely, excruciatingly the same as last night. Until: "Oh no," he says. " I lie on the bed, flat. I am so, so careful, have always been careful, and this has never happened.

They divorced," he says. "I'm sorry," I say. "It's okay. " "Yeah," he says. " "Jimmy Weeks," I say. "How's Mrs. " I had Mrs. Weeks for English in high school. A whole semester on Sylvia Plath. "Dead," Jason says. " I say. " He pays and I don't protest. We get back on his scooter, the leather seat cold between my legs. He takes me to a bar on an alley I've never noticed. The hostess recognizes him and seats us in a tall red booth. It's the shape of an open parenthesis. He orders me an apple martini and I drink it quickly, with frequent sips, so I can order something I like.

He doesn't turn around. I walk around so I'm facing him. His eyes are gray. He has one set of eyelashes that are blond; those in the other set are brown. I used to love this about him. Now the imbalance frightens me. "Happy birthday," I say. He looks at the radiator as it releases steam. On the stereo, a violin is playing scales. "Here," I say, and hold out the envelope. He takes it from me with his left hand. His right wrist is still messed up from the car accident. The heat's on much too high in the apartment and I feel like I'm choking.

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