My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "She's...a haiku." "Poetic?" "Short." "Get out of here." "No, really. Like, five-seven-five? No, like, five foot seven minus five." "So she's five foot two?" "Yeah." "That's not so bad." "It is when you're a super haiku." "A super haiku?" "Yeah. 6-7-2." "Uh-huh." "Six foot seven plus two." I laughed. Gerald was definitely tall, the tallest guy in the entire town. When he walked into a room, especially while he was wearing his cowboy hat, everyone looked at him. One time, when he entered a restaurant, the piano player stopped in the middle of his sonata just to stare. A six foot nine guy can do that. Even to the professionals. We were sitting at the corner of the bar. Always the corner. Because if we didn't, Gerald would be blocking someone who wanted to watch the baseball game. I...

His voice was nearly indistinct compared to the noise of the stereo and the hammering of crickets outside. Everything seemed to pound against my head, and as he pulled me toward him, any sweet nothings he attempted to slip into my ears turned into liquid static that just trickled down the side of my face and left me with no response or real capability of listening. It wasn't until I heard the clock strike nine that I finally found the energy to stand up and move away, quickly, to the welcoming heat of the kitchen.