Take It With Me

All that day, Tom was uneasy. He took Kitty to a diner, got them both a burger and fries, watched her pick at her food, and wondered. After a while, Kitty caught on to his mood.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, nibbling on a slice of tomato. Tom balked, raking one of his fries through a puddle of ketchup. Springsteen was playing on the Jukebox and the diner was all full of chatter and suddenly it all just reduced to Kitty, sitting there in front of him, looking like someone was holding an axe over her neck.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just thinking.”

“Bout what?” Kitty asked, tapping her nails on the Formica table.

“Nothing,” Tom answered, getting impatient. The girl was forever asking questions, seemed like. Kitty stared down at her plate. They were quiet for a moment, and then she looked up at him through long, dark lashes, smiling sheepishly.

“Want my fries? I’m not too hungry tonight.”

“Sure, push ‘em on over,” Tom replied mindlessly. Kitty passed him her fries and he dumped them onto his plate.

“So… how much longer are we… I mean… you… I mean… never mind,” Kitty mumbled, picking up her tomato slice once more.

Tom didn’t bother to answer her question. Why should he?

Not like he knew the answer.

The rest of the night passed by slowly. Kitty read her magazine. Tom smoked a few more cigarettes. They both watched a couple episodes of the Andy Griffith show. And then they went to bed. Barely five words said between the two of them. Kitty knew something was up. Something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t going well.

She was scared.

When Tom climbed into bed with her, Kitty held her breath, nervous for no reason. She had slept with him the night before, for pete's sake.

But things were different now that she was sober. Without the fog of wine clouding her mind, everything seemed louder, more real, more consequential then the night before. It scared her. The way the bed squeaked, sloped down where his body lay, all of it was foreign.

It was different sharing a bed with a man.

Before Tom, the only people Kitty had ever slept in the same bed with were her friends; elementary and middle school sleepovers, before they had gotten too old to share Kitty’s carved trundle bed. And now, this.

It was different. Almost too different. The only person she had ever wanted to share a bed with was Joe. Tall, dark, kind eyed Joe. Her boyfriend. The man who was going to be her husband one day, she was sure of it. Oh, Joe.

Kitty bit her finger, trying not to cry. She wanted Joe.

But Joe was 200 miles and 40 years away.