“Salt,” Robert Vaughan

by MP

     Lily scans the personals on the easel while she re-fills the salt shakers. She’s not necessarily looking, per se. Though her good-for-nothing-loser-of-an-excuse-for-a-boyfriend, it would appear, is on the way out. Kaput. Screw him.
      “For real this time?” Zadie asks while she refills the ketchups.
     Lily nods. Doesn’t want to get into it. Too complicated, plus Zadie is a blabbermouth.
      “He move out yet?” Zadie presses.
      “Soon.” Lily looks out the front windows of Café . Sees a small girl sitting in the cab of a decrepit Chevy. Scraggly shoulder-length hair, barely able to see over the top of the console. Lily thinks about waiting for her father. Why he never came back. Wonders if that’s why every man leaves her. Just like dear old dad, they all do. She sighs, feels her heart nearly overflow, shit, not good. She turns back to the interior tables, moving further away from Zadie. Tucks her bangs behind an ear. With a quick glance at the girl in the truck, Lily closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to conjure her “happy place.” Can’t.
     Back to the personals message board, Lily notices for the third week that no- one responded to Bondage Man. She stares at his photo, the black goatee and ski hat. Those piercing green eyes. Dangerous. Lily feels badly for him, her face flushes with desire. She imagines he looks like an action figure in spandex, with bad acne scars. Wants to watch him like a voyeur, a spider dangled in the corner web. She feels hot, flush, damp. She looks out the window to see the girl in the truck staring at her. The salt becomes liquid in her hands, streams onto the floor.

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