Molly's bad date

Molly’s hair was flat at the crown. Her makeup had spread. (It overran her features; it gave her a watercolor effect.) Even her clothing looked different. As if it denatured. As if threads had loosened in the heat.

Molly felt awful. She felt like a wet dog.

She and Joe were at a subway station. They had been for about ten minutes; trains were late due to a signal problem.

Molly suggested walking. “At least outside we get the occasional breeze!” she said. But Joe refused. He said, “We’ve waited too long. I’m committed now.” Then he looked toward the tunnel. It was dark as death. He kicked the air around him.

Joe often said things like this. He was always taking a stance. (But these “stances” were random, Molly thought. They were insubstantial. Joe had conviction without philosophy. Opinions but no real values.)

More time passed.

Molly read all the nearby signage. The maps and ads, the etiquette posters. She read them with literary zeal. She wanted a distraction, from the heat and Joe. To obliterate any existing thought.

There was an ad for As You Like It in Central Park. “Have you ever seen Shakespeare in the Park?” Molly asked. “I have not,” Joe answered.

He paused before adding, “Have you?”

The question surprised Molly. She responded eagerly, with a radiant smile. Like he had proposed. “Yes, a few times.” “That’s cool.” “Yeah. It’s definitely worth doing at least once. You go on a nice summer night, sit beneath the stars…sometimes they get celebrities.” “Really. Like who?” “Well, just from the shows I’ve seen: John Lithgow and Annette Bening in King Lear, Amy Adams in Into the Woods, Anne Hathaway in Twelfth Night; I saw that when I was thirteen, with my aunt Michelle. But yeah, lots of people. And everyone lines up for tickets and sits on the ground for hours.” “That’s fucking insane.” “It’s not that bad! You bring a chair and a book and snacks, and that’s it, you’re all set.” “What if you have to go to the bathroom?” “You make friends with the people next to you in line, and they save your spot. And then you go as fast as you can.” “I’m sorry, that sounds terrible.” “Well, I’ll never make you do it, I promise!” Molly tried to sound relaxed and happy.

The train finally arrived. Molly and Joe were ideally positioned: perched on the edge of the platform, right on the yellow paint.

A mass of people came out. Molly stood back. Looking down, as in observation of a rite. Joe mostly did the same, until his patience ran out, and he forced his way onto the train, sliding in between bodies. Molly followed him a second later.

They both held on to a pole. “Nice and cold,” Molly said. Joe nodded.