rough draft: so how do you play the game?

Do you want to hang out later? She'd texted him as they were waiting in the car at the airport terminal. She didn't know where she was going with it, but she'd had a few drinks.

Sure, he'd said.

That was how the end began.

She never used to ask, she'd just come over, plop down on his futon and they'd watch movies. He could never watch them alone. She didn't like watching movies alone either. She was easily distracted. She didn't know him well then. But he had a lot of free time that summer and so did she.

Come to the airport with me, he said.

What? It's 2 a.m. Why?

I have to take my mom.

Isn't that going to be awkward?

She secretly loved the idea of meeting his mom. Even though mothers never seemed to take to her. She was better with fathers.

...

She had had a feeling he liked her, and she was hardly ever wrong. So she toyed with the idea, and then she found herself wondering what it'd be like. It was one of those things.


"----

I walked by your room earlier this evening, and I paused. I'd heard your room was still unlocked. You'd left sheets on your bed, some old clothes folded, and your keys laid on your desk. Your keys. I, I had my keys together as I was walking around the city today, and I had them in my hand, and out of nervous habit I started flipping them with my fingers, in my hands, and it was the same sound, the way we always knew who was entering the kitchen, or the stairway because you always had those keys in your hands. You had this ocd habit of locking your door every time you left the room. And now you're gone, and your room, it still smells of you, the door's not locked. You're not there anymore.


....


He was from Edmonton, a small suburb outside Oklahoma City. She found herself toying with the idea of moving to middle America. Living in a town where life was paced, where people had down time, where kids had bonfires, and everyone really knew everyone and weekends were spent boating on the lake or fishing in the middle of the night. It was a nice idea.

....

They were all perfectly wrong. Living embodiments of the idea of perfection in imperfection. They were all a part of the game. A series of overlapping realities, from careless banter to sex that meant more than nothing. Eventually, it was all fucked.