Room 5 (September 1995)
Micro-fiction by Chris Gerboth
She knew he wasn’t the man for her. Not forever, anyway. But he was kind and he worked hard. He was considerate. He always washed before they settled in for the evening, and he smelled strong and masculine lying next to her.
“We’ll be out of here soon,” he said.
“Do you have money coming?” she asked.
“End of the week. And I’ve already paid Karl his gas money. I figure I got three hundred free and clear.”
“I’m proud of you. You work hard. You should have money.”
“Do you want to watch TV?”
“Maybe later.”
She sighed and rolled toward him. She put her head on his chest, feeling the need to hold him in place before the world turned and he floated off.
Their bodies took over the conversation. It wasn’t the heated passion of tearing off clothes. It was steady and tender. They were both young and strong. Restraint was a matter of choice. He wasn’t aggressive, nor she submissive.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“I could make you something. We have some tortillas and a little cheese left.”
“No, thanks. I’m just tired.”
“I understand.”
She asked the question that had been on her mind for a while now: “What are we going to do after?”
“After what?”
“After you get paid.”
“Around here’s all melons and onions and they’re almost done.”
“And then?”
“Wheat harvest in Kansas, I guess.”
“And then?”
“Maybe Texas? Maybe California?”
“Okay.”
“Is it? Okay, I mean?”
“I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about it.”
“We go where the work is.”
“Of course.”
“You’ll get used to it. It takes time.”
“I suppose it does.”
“My mother said she almost left my father. She became unhappy. I don’t ever want you to be unhappy.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“She had to work, but you won’t. I’ll make enough money for both of us.”
“I know you will.”
“And by the time we have kids, I’ll have my own crew.”
“That’ll be wonderful.”
“We’ll be a proud and happy family.”
“Yes.”
“Three hundred free and clear.”
“You should buy a new white shirt. One that looks nice.”
“And you should buy a new skirt for when we’re on the bus.”
“We’ll look like a regular married couple.”
He turned over and she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
“I didn’t mean . . .” she tried walking back the words.
“I know. I’m really tired.”
Friday. Three hundred free and clear. A new shirt. Texas. California. Children.
He was kind and he worked hard. He meant every word of it.
He was a good man, just not the right man.
BIO: Chris Gerboth is a writer and scholar living in Central Wisconsin. He has published earlier writings and a novel on rural life.