Paper Cuts
I mentioned my meeting to Kristen and she became excited. I wasn’t sure if she was angry with me, or jealous, or just happy in a raw, rough sort of way. She said I’d best be ready. I’d best get my shit together. I’d best not be a disappointment or a child or try to make a joke where there wasn’t one. I said I thought I could handle it and she became indignant. She started packing. She was moving to the city in a month, and as an excruciating way of breaking up with me, she would pack at any complaint, tiff, or off-hand remark. I made to leave her room. Folding jeans, she called after me without regarding me with her eyes.
“Remember, Julius is an Intellectual. A real Intellectual.”
“And I am a what? A Provin-sexual? An Ineffectual?” I left slamming the door. It was a move from my father’s repertoire. The quip and flee. Often with a little frightful punning on the quip.
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