Isolated Moments (2)
Over the phone she said, “I’ve got a gray hair because of you. I’m going to pluck it but I want you to see it first.” She came over and he followed her into the bathroom where she grasped a small gray air growing near her temple—shorter than the nail of her pinky finger—with a pair of needlenose tweezers. “That’s what these six months have done to me,” she said, then pulled it out with a quick tug. He had imagined a long, wavy, wiry, gray hair woven in with her bangs. He didn’t even understand how she had noticed this miniscule hair.
* * *
Her hair was newly cut so that it hung tightly against her chin and her eyes were newly blue (how had he never noticed?) and she was generous with her picolo laugh as she told him about the network of fault lines below the city that would one day send them all crashing into the sea.
* * *
The blind man ate his lemon meringue pie with deliberate intimacy, savoring each bite with both his mouth and his fingers.