purple 2:00 AM
Find the right key and trip over the mat next to the kitchen. It is classic movie Wednesday, and tonight is Amadeus. The roommate bakes grocery store sweet potato fries for the girlfriend he’ll soon call Mrs. My-Name-Now. But he hasn’t asked her yet. The roommate and his soon-to-be-wife-well-maybe-not mock my cynicism. I don’t ask what they are doing up so late as the morning settles on a purple 2:00 AM Providence skyline. To-be-betrothed holds a red plush monkey we keep on the window sill when she is nervous. She once said the habit has to do with her dad leaving. She doesn’t speak up when the roommate drops his top hat: I’m not a feminist because…what makes them think they deserve…those emails. The red monkey, held tight, wears a too-much grin, like it is hiding pain. I get to my feet and sit on the couch where the roommate hands me a little tray. They cuddle, nibbling on each other’s ears with diet-pill energy; fake Mozart’s second act crescendos.
Gillick is from Virginia.