Here Comes Your Man

At the frat’s Halloween party, you head directly for Evan Harris, who’s at the head of a beer-soaked table playing quarters with the hockey guys. You’ve been flirting for weeks, in your business management class, in the cafeteria line, everything building up to this moment.

Evan glances up, asks if you’re supposed to be a fairy. You point to the Pixy Stix running through the straps of your wings, the multicolored tubes decorating your neckline, chest, ribs, and tell him you’re a pixie, like the band you know he loves—he’s always wearing one of their faded black tees. He looks you up and down, the guys still bouncing their quarters, smack, smack, smack.

“You know what’d be cool?” Evan motions you closer, pulling several sticks from your costume, dragging them slowly across the sides of your breasts before tearing them open and dumping the sugar on the table. “If you snorted this.” The game’s paused now, all eyes on you as Evan uses his thick index finger to form the dust into narrow lines, handing you one of the empty tubes.

You can feel this is some sort of turning point, so you lean down, making sure your chest’s pointed toward Evan as you inhale sharply. It feels like someone’s pressing an accelerator inside your body, your nostrils and throat burning, eyes tearing, everything stinging. Still, you smile, expecting Evan to pull you toward him, ask you to join the game.

Instead, a Pink Power Ranger with a strawberry ponytail and white, knee-high boots brushes past you as she slides onto Evan’s lap, his broad hands reaching for her hips like they’ve been there before. He whispers something to her, then presses his bottle against the base of her neck, and she shrieks at the cold, batting it away, laughing together. Everyone’s focus returns to the game, eyes on the table and each other, their backs to you, stuck there alone in that narrow space between their chairs and the wall.

You’re still coughing when you head for the door, the elastic straps of your wings tight across your chest. As you free yourself from their grip, the candy tumbles at your feet, a trail you leave in your wake, a path back to when you thought you might deserve a seat at the table, only to be reminded of your place, the ache in your throat ensuring you’ll stay in it.