1210 Days in eight minutes, with playlist
This will take eight minutes if read slowly.
Stephanie’s and Iz’s second time will take eight minutes. They will move quickly.
Before that, another eight minutes to recognize each other. They sit across a round table at the Hyatt in Cleveland, where a small business association’s convention is dragging on. It’s February 2023.
Iz asks, ‘You’re Stephanie?’
‘I am, Liz. Nice to see you again.’
‘No longer Liz. I’m Iz. I’ve come out.’
‘Good for you,’ says Stephanie.
‘I’ve expanded, too. Now have six Iz My Cafe across Detroit.’
‘Again, good.’
Included in these eight minutes is wondering when and where they had sex.
Stephanie gets it first: November 2019 at the association’s convention in Houston. That’s 1210 days ago. Forever ago. Pre-COVID, and pre the big 6-0, and pre post-menopause.
Time for a tune from the playlist. Here’s ‘Dismantle’, a contemplative instrumental by Peter Sandberg.
1210 days ago had begun with footsie under a tablecloth as big as Texas. Iz, then Liz, flicked off a three-inch heel, and ran a foot up Stephanie’s leg and under her skirt.
Stephanie smiled, shifted slightly in her chair. Never looked at Iz, but went to her room.
There, ginger waves, freed from Iz’s tight bun, cascaded across Stephanie’s face.
Back to 2023 and the table in Cleveland.
Stephanie remembers the kissing and the gasping, the hair in her mouth.
Iz remembers Stephanie’s eyes. Coffee brown and small like beans.
Picking up a conference program, Iz exclaims, ‘Oh, that’s you speaking tomorrow morning. Super title for a talk: “Clients Cutting Their Own Hair: A Pandemic Pandemic.” Are people still doing that? They’ve not come back to your salon?’
Stephanie doesn’t answer. ‘And you’re up in the afternoon.’
Iz loves to answer. ‘Yes, with my presentation “Caffeinate Me, Baby: Wide-awake Management of Life and Business.”‘
Stephanie winks. ‘Gotta get me some.’
As they catch up, let’s enjoy the blooming of Howard Harper-Barnes’ ‘The Rose Garden’.
Stephanie remains married, divorce being expensive. One son is in college, the other in her basement. He doesn’t work or want to finish high school.
Iz: ‘Bad seed?’
‘No,’ snaps Stephanie. ‘He just doesn’t know who he is yet.’
Iz explains she still hasn’t met someone special enough. Still hopes to. Her parents are doing pretty well.
Stephanie’s glad about both.
Now in their eighties, Iz’s mum and dad live with her. They’re having more and more trouble with the stairs, so she’ll probably have to sell the house. ‘I’ll miss my roses.’
Says Stephanie, ‘Time marches on. Whiskers passed away last fall.’
Who? Dog? Cat? Iz doesn’t ask.
Fast forward to a hotel room. Iz’s. An executive suite on the Hyatt’s fourteenth floor because her coffee shop chain is doing so well. Stephanie—she’s laid off her last stylist—is in a budget room on a much lower floor.
They strip for each other, then talk about sensible underwear.
Iz’s powerful bra has wide straps for extra support. Stephanie unhooks it.
Iz slides off Stephanie’s stretchy high-rise, full coverage briefs.
‘Absorbent for sudden leaks,’ says Stephanie. ‘I hate sneezing or laughing anymore.’
As casually as she can, Iz mentions a new skin eruption—a crusty little mushroom-looking thing—on her left groin. ‘Just so you know and don’t wonder “God, what’s that?”‘
Iz thinks the mushroom is because of hormonal changes.
Stephanie thinks she ought to have it checked.
On respective nightstands, they place their bifocals. Neither needed them in 2019.
‘Lights on or lights off?’ whispers Iz.
It will not take eight minutes to decide. Off. They chuckle.
Well, let’s leave Stephanie and Iz here. No desire to intrude, watch.
But, first, remind them that the session about small business accounting software begins soon.
Then wish them well with their presentations tomorrow and with life—Stephanie’s kid trouble and Iz’s house sale.
Finally, cue up the determined, urgent ‘Other Sides of Glory’ by Fabien Tell before quietly shutting the door.
Karen Walker
Karen Walker (she/her) writes short in a low basement in Ontario, Canada. Her most recent work is in or forthcoming in New Flash Fiction Review, Exist Otherwise, Switch, Misery Tourism, and Does it Have Pockets?
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