7: Maryland
- population:
- 5,633,597
- households:
- 1,980,859
- housing units:
- 2,318,456
- square miles:
- 9,774
- characters:
- 5
- paragraphs:
- 20
- graphemes:
- 2,318
- narrator:
- 2nd person
“Does the first trick take it,” your father asks, hand hovering over the card lying facedown in the center of the table, “or the first point trick?”
“First point,” your mother says, and sips her drink. “Like always, dear.”
“Oh.” He withdraws his hand. A pause. “We haven’t played with just three people in a while.”
He lays down the 7 of spades, and your mother follows with the 9. You sigh and play the three. It’s Sunday night and you’re at your parents’ house in Silver Spring. You wish you had anywhere to be but here.
“Didn’t you two have plans this weekend?” Your mother asks, leading with the Jack. “You and Miles?”
“No,” you say, and play the 10.
“That’s too bad,” your father says. “Those Asian guys are really good at counting cards. He’d be cleaning up right now.” He frowns and throws in the five.
“That was Drew, Dad,” you say.
Your mother finishes her drink and sweeps up the trick. “Miles was the black one, dear,” she says. “Fix a couple more, would you?”
He gets up and heads to the kitchen. You hear the freezer door open, the splash of the gin, the slosh of ice being shaken. Your mother holds out her hand, and rests it lightly on yours. “I never liked him, dear,” she says.
You met Miles at a bar in East Baltimore last fall. He said he was studying law at Johns Hopkins, and you fell in love with the way he put his hands on you, like it was natural, that you were his. You were both drunk, and you told him you wanted to go back to his place. Miles said there was a problem with his heater, or something, so you went back to your dorm instead.
Your father returns with two martini glasses, sets them down. “Can I get anything for you, Suz?” he asks.
You shake your head. “I’m fine.”
You don’t remember exactly what happened. You woke up half-naked and Miles was gone, a few of his hairs on your pillow, your creased sheets thick with his smell. You saw him on and off for the next few months, and he was in your dorm when your mother came to pick you up for winter break, so you introduced them.
“There’s no law school at Johns Hopkins,” your mother said. You turned deep red and Miles smiled. He’d lied about everything – his job, his apartment, his age. He didn’t even live in Baltimore, but in Takoma Park, and studied criminal justice at University of Maryland University College.
Your father hesitates, fingers playing along the edges of his cards. “Have hearts been broken?” he asks.
“No,” your mother says. He plays the four of spades and she lays down the two.
You texted him on the car-ride home, but he never texted back. You saw him flirting with some other girl at the same bar in January, but he wouldn’t talk to you.
“Susie,” your mother says. “It’s your turn.”
The queen of spades is in your hand. That cold, black-hearted bitch. You close your eyes. The night is black outside, and cold. The moon is dark and new.
“First point,” your mother says, and sips her drink. “Like always, dear.”
“Oh.” He withdraws his hand. A pause. “We haven’t played with just three people in a while.”
He lays down the 7 of spades, and your mother follows with the 9. You sigh and play the three. It’s Sunday night and you’re at your parents’ house in Silver Spring. You wish you had anywhere to be but here.
“Didn’t you two have plans this weekend?” Your mother asks, leading with the Jack. “You and Miles?”
“No,” you say, and play the 10.
“That’s too bad,” your father says. “Those Asian guys are really good at counting cards. He’d be cleaning up right now.” He frowns and throws in the five.
“That was Drew, Dad,” you say.
Your mother finishes her drink and sweeps up the trick. “Miles was the black one, dear,” she says. “Fix a couple more, would you?”
He gets up and heads to the kitchen. You hear the freezer door open, the splash of the gin, the slosh of ice being shaken. Your mother holds out her hand, and rests it lightly on yours. “I never liked him, dear,” she says.
You met Miles at a bar in East Baltimore last fall. He said he was studying law at Johns Hopkins, and you fell in love with the way he put his hands on you, like it was natural, that you were his. You were both drunk, and you told him you wanted to go back to his place. Miles said there was a problem with his heater, or something, so you went back to your dorm instead.
Your father returns with two martini glasses, sets them down. “Can I get anything for you, Suz?” he asks.
You shake your head. “I’m fine.”
You don’t remember exactly what happened. You woke up half-naked and Miles was gone, a few of his hairs on your pillow, your creased sheets thick with his smell. You saw him on and off for the next few months, and he was in your dorm when your mother came to pick you up for winter break, so you introduced them.
“There’s no law school at Johns Hopkins,” your mother said. You turned deep red and Miles smiled. He’d lied about everything – his job, his apartment, his age. He didn’t even live in Baltimore, but in Takoma Park, and studied criminal justice at University of Maryland University College.
Your father hesitates, fingers playing along the edges of his cards. “Have hearts been broken?” he asks.
“No,” your mother says. He plays the four of spades and she lays down the two.
You texted him on the car-ride home, but he never texted back. You saw him flirting with some other girl at the same bar in January, but he wouldn’t talk to you.
“Susie,” your mother says. “It’s your turn.”
The queen of spades is in your hand. That cold, black-hearted bitch. You close your eyes. The night is black outside, and cold. The moon is dark and new.
February 15, 2010