Waving Not Drowning

It's a double date. Esther and Jonathan have been seeing a lot of each other over the last three months. Izzy and Rico have been married for 2 years but had a 12 year engagement. One of those. Esther wondered if they'd jinx it by tying the knot- fall apart and divorce within the year. So far, so good. At least from outward appearances. Esther's nervous- she likes this guy but knows he's a hard sell. Izzy and Rico are her oldest, dearest friends. They've been there through all of her men, for better or worse. Mostly worse. It's rare that Esther does the meet and greet so soon into a courtship but this  one feels different. He's kind. Funny. Conscientious. Short. Ok, there are some cons weighing against the pros, she knows this. But he's the best thing she's met in months, maybe even years. Esther slides onto the chair next to the window, leaving Jonathan with the aisle seat. Awkward seeing that she has to fold her legs in on herself like a praying man...

Maybe he won't call. Maybe the phones are down. Across the city. The country maybe, because he could be anywhere. Asia, Africa, Antarctica. Some continent beginning with an A. Like Americas. Do they all begin with A? Why aren't there more variations on a theme? Who decides this stuff? Hank would know. Hank knows everything. Names of capital cities, solutions to quadratic equations, how to peel a mango with your teeth without getting all the stringy bits caught up in the space between them. Especially the front two. Hank can rewire a broken lamp, drive a double clutch long haul trailer, climb microwave towers and install sattelite dishes for radiowave transmission and speak fluent American Sign Language. He makes stellar profiteroles, too. Hank's a truth teller. The truth according to Hank. Hanks speaks truth to power and damn the torpedoes, screw the consequences, he will be heard. That's what makes Ziggy nervous. More often than not, Ziggy has to clean up after Hank. S...

"How do you fight with a girl, huh? Tell me, cause it ain't right, you being like that with her. It's different, you know. I wouldn't take it, no way, that's straight up wrong is what that is. You need to shake your head, that's what you need, bro. No way you treat a girl like that. How you think she feels, hmm? You treat your sister that way, defensive and downright mean? Yeah, you're mean, bro. You dismiss her and don't respond. You disengage. That's fine with me- I get it, you know? But to her? No. Passive aggressive and you call her out on it? Pfffft, come on. I mean, I've listened to you go on and on for the last what, 8, 9 months- but this anger, man. You have some spooky anger issues in play and honestly- I love you, man, you know I do- you need to check that because the two of you make each other crazy and she's a good woman, dude. You know that. But you shut her down and check out and then you play with her, always play. Enough with...

In the middle of their conversation, Ray leans across the table and injects himself into the story. Kerri stops short, caught off guard. She takes a moment to assess the situation, read Ray's tone, decipher his intent and decides against a defensive response, which is generally a wise choice. Lara'a oblivious to Kerri's sudden freeze out and gives Ray the floor. Kerri's new here; these people are not yet her people. A sprawling mass of  tables jammed together in a long row to celebrate a birthday of a new mutual friend where everyone seems to know each other intimately. She gets a sense of long term relationships, private jokes, battles fought and won and histories stamped in the ground. Boisterous, loud, rambling conversations and anecdotes overlap, cancelling each other out. Kerri's private conversation with Lara about her peripatetic childhood and father's journey in the service prompts an invasive and unsolicited query from Ray. He peppers her about her fath...

"You know, like, he never even responded to my last text. And now Rahim says he's dating that skank, that blonde from Casey's party last Thursday. I Can Not Be Lieve It." Adriana spits out the last line, articulating each syllable in a hard staccato rhythm, spitting the sounds as if to get the taste of them out of her mouth. Her eyes pool, she pulls her mirrored aviator sunglasses out of her gloriously long, thick, black mane of Persian hair and slides them along the bridge of her aquiline nose, the angles of her face carving harsh shadows on the top of her barely covered breasts. She's rolled up her tank top to sun her stomach, pulled down her waistband and hauled up her shorts fashioning a makeshift bikini. Her skin soaks up the sun, turning a deep mahogany brown, barely breaking a sweat. Carly nods sympathetically, mmm'ing and ahhh'ing, adding some uh huhs, and oh yeahs for good measure. They sit casually straddled, entwined like lazy cats sunbathing, a...