This Vicious Cycle

by Jeff Ronan

 

[Editor’s Note: This piece is part of the “Topical” series, with each piece solely submitted to and chosen by the Final Reader Pietra Dunmore.]

 

I pretend I can’t hear the question, which isn’t entirely true. I’m waiting for a drink I don’t need, debating (selfishly) how shitty a son I’ll be if I don’t take the train down tomorrow, when I feel a sharp poke in my ribs. The woman is cute but peppers her sentences with a phony-sounding laugh. She leans in and repeats: “My friend and I were wondering – ha ha – if you’re into guys or girls?”

The friend standing behind her smiles at me and downs the rest of his beer. A colorful tribal tattoo circles his bicep, which I normally find cheesy, but looks good on him. He sees me looking at it and winks. I fight the urge to lick my chapped lips.

The bartender wordlessly delivers my whiskey, and I scan the bar to see if any of my coworkers can see us. Dela is programming Honky Cat into the jukebox for the second time in an hour, while Micah, misreading the vibe of the room, tries to hand out shots of Jäger. He catches my eye, and I turn away.

I rarely join my office’s Friday happy hour, but Erika called during my lunch break. Our father had passed out while buying scratch-offs and was back in the hospital for the umpteenth time in two years. Each time this happens, the doctors repeat their cycle of tests, and Erika grows convinced that this will be the time that we’ll find a cause, if not a cure. I want to tell her that it’s pointless; that they’ll say the same thing they always do: “From what we can see, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

I turn back to the pair, their eyes expectant, and I notice the guy’s tattoo again. What I thought was some kind of tribal marking is actually a coral snake, winding around his arm and disappearing up the sleeve of his t-shirt. I imagine a version of myself finding out where the snake ends.

“Well?”

Somewhere, a glass shatters, followed by a smattering of sarcastic applause. I want to ask how many times they’ve used this pickup line. And if every guy has as much difficulty choosing one of the two answers they’re looking for. Instead, I reach out and gently tug on the hem of the woman’s shirt and give the answer that I can live with for tonight.

 

Jeff Ronan is a New York-based writer, actor, and podcaster. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Bards and Sages Quarterly, Sci Phi Journal, Dream of Shadows, City.River.Tree., and the anthology Ink. For more, visit jeffronan.com

 

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