11/21/10

Paucity
By David Backer


Earlier that evening Mr. and Mrs. Michaels sat at opposite ends of a bar with their backs to each other. Mr. Michaels was having drinks with a woman that was not Mrs. Michaels, and Mrs. Michaels was having drinks with a man that was not Mr. Michaels. It just so happened that they both got up to go to the bathroom at the same time. They saw each other. Both of them shocked, they turned around and paid their respective bills and left together, each driving their own car back home.



Now Mr. and Mrs. Michaels are sitting on their living room couch staring at the wall above their television, which is turned off.



Mr. Michaels attempts communication.



"I'm going to go get some chips from the kitchen. Do you want any?"



Mrs. Michaels is silent.


Mr. Michaels leaves the room and comes back empty-handed and sits down, resting his hands on his knees.



"What do we do?"



Mrs. Michaels says nothing. Mr. Michaels tries to be specific.



"Do we talk about it?"



"I don't know if there's very much to say."



"Who was he?" he asks.



"Who was she?" she retorts.



They both lean back on the couch and look forward again at the blank television screen.



"How long?" he asks.



"Two years," she says, "and you?"



"Three," he says.



Then there is silence, long, definitive, muscular. It extends several minutes. Mr. and Mrs. Michaels sigh intermittently, trying not to see each other.



"Weren't you going to go get chips?" Mrs. Michaels asks in a whisper.



"There wasn't any left," Mr. Michaels says, "so I gave up on the idea."


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David Backer was born in Danbury, CT in 1984. He's pursuing a PhD in philosophy and education and plays the banjo.