Date Night
The author gets Chinese takeout with a man on a Wednesday.
--
Man: Gets into car with large takeout bag. I don’t even know what I just fucking paid for. You ordered $85 worth of food. Why did you do this?
Woman: Hums nervously.
Man: What.
Woman: Flinches.
Man: Oh Jesus fucking — WHAT?
Woman: Coughs delicately.
Man: No. Nope. I can’t do this tonight. Tell me right now, or I’m getting out.
Woman: Mumbles nervously.
Man: Yes “with the fucking Chinese,” you little shit, you want to eat or not?
Woman: Covers ears, squeezes eyes shut.
Man: I’M NOT EVEN YEL — okay. Softens voice. Amanda. Baby…what’s wrong?
Woman: Whispers. It’s Marzipan Sam.
Man: Closes eyes.
Woman: Marzipan Sam is gone.
Man: Eyes remain closed. Gone.
Woman: Yes.
Man: Deeply inhales. Opens eyes. Starts engine, slowly exits strip mall parking lot. Where did you last see him?
Woman: Did you remember to get enough sweet and sour because last time you only got soy —
Man: AMANDA.
Woman: I think he’s been kidnapped.
Man: Slams car horn.
Woman: Ooo, me too! Reaches across, beeps horn twice. Giggles.
Man: What do you mean, you “think he’s been kidnapped” he’s a FUCKING —
Woman: I mean I think he’s been taken against his will.
Man:
Woman: Opens purse, withdraws stick of gum.
Man: Lowers voice. Amanda.
Woman: Smacks gum. Ya.
Man: I know what “kidnapped” means. What I am asking is: How do you know he’s not just — away?
Woman: Are you suggesting —
Man: Shakes head aggressively. Nope.
Woman: — that Marzipan Sam would leave?
Man: Okay first, I didn’t say anything about it being like, permanent. Second, I’m simply offering an alternative to your goddamn kidnapping theory.
Woman: THEORY!
Man: Yes. THEORY. Because you have ZERO —
Woman: Throws gum wrapper.
Man: Ducks head. ZERO logical fucking ground to argue that —
Woman: THERE IT IS.
Man: Slams breaks at red light. Blinks once. Twice. There what is?
Woman: Tosses arms in air. IT!
Man: Gradually accelerates while white-knuckling steering wheel. What is “IT?”
Woman: Mutters incoherently.
Man: I CANNOT HE —
Woman: I’M AN ARTIST AND YOU’RE JUST A MAN.
Man: Parks. Get out of the car.
Woman: No.
Man: Amanda, we’re parked a block away from the apartment. You can see it from here. There’s the dead plant you refuse to give up, Hubert —
Woman: Hubert.
Man: That’s what I fucking said.
Woman: No, Hubert. The “t” is silent.
Man: Get out of the car.
Woman: Pokes him. We’re Mr. Macho, now? Pokes repeatedly. Mr. Macho with the MOO. SHU. PORK?
Man:
Woman: Giggles.
Twenty seconds pass.
Woman: Crying. Why are you my enemy?
Man: I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING!
Woman: Stops crying abruptly. Can I have an egg roll, please?
Man: Covers face with palms. How many edibles did you eat before we left Eric’s?
Woman: Holds up one finger.
Man: Nods repeatedly. Oh interesting. Cool…cool, also: how many edibles did you eat?
Woman: Two. Also I found half a joint on the floor — floor score! Can I have an egg roll?
Man: Whispers in a constricted voice. Okay. Yes. Not yet. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Go into the apartment.
Woman: Shrugs. Exits car.
Man: Slowly retrieves takeout bag. Exits car.
Nearby, in the bushes lining the sidewalk, there is a disembodied growl-scream, possibly human, definitely feral.
Man: Drops bag. FUCK me — WHAT WAS THAT?
Woman: Claps hands. HELLO, Marzipan Sam, baby!! Hello! Waves at bush.
Man: Turns away. Walks slowly toward apartment building, abandoning takeout.
Woman: Yells to him. We should order Chinese! I’m so hungry.
