Jen’s mother is dough-plump, with round cheeks and pinched lips. Her dad is a fatty, the zipper of his coach’s jacket straining across his belly. Her parents stand in the hallway, watching us apprehensively. In a little while, Nurse Vinnie herds us into Rec and locks the door. We won’t be allowed to say goodbye to Jen. The girls flit about the room, pulling cards and games from the bin, setting up with Vinnie at the round table. Blue stands at the window. Her dirty-blond hair is tied in a messy knot today; the tattoo of a swallow gleams faintly on the back of her neck. After a little while, she murmurs, “There she goes.”
We rush to the window. In the parking lot, Jen’s father heaves two green suitcases into the trunk of a black Subaru. The day is gray and cold-looking. He tucks himself in the driver’s seat, the whole car sinking down with the weight of him. Jen towers over her mother like a bendable straw. Her mother pats her once on the arm and opens the rear door, leaving Jen to fold herself into the front, next to her father.
She never once looks up at us.
The car melts into traffic, disappearing down the long block of cafés and bars, Middle Eastern trinket shops, and the place where they sell twenty-two kinds of hot dogs. Mikey worked there one summer; his skin radiated relish and sauerkraut.
The sky is pulpy with dark clouds. There have been a lot of storms lately, unusual for April. The sound of Blue’s voice brings me back. “Poor Bruce,” she says softly, pointing out the window.
Barbero is standing in a corner of the parking lot. He’s not wearing scrubs today: he’s wearing a light blue hoodie and collared shirt, jeans and white sneakers, just like any other guy on the street.
“Oh,” I say. Then, “Oh.”
He liked Jen. His name is Bruce.
He’s got little wire-frame glasses on that make him look not so…oafish…but kind of…nice. Blue and I watch as he wipes his eyes, climbs into his own car, a rusty little orange hatchback, and drives away,
“Poor, poor Bruce,” Blue murmurs.
Bodies fit together. And sometimes they don’t.
