Don’t Remember His Name by Holly Day

When she woke up, she was told she was in love

this was all she would ever need. She remembered going home

with the man from the bar, remembered passively letting him have sex with her

mostly because she wanted to sleep in his bed and not on his couch or on the chair

but she did not climb into his bed to fall in love

no matter how much he tried to give her head before and after.

 

When she woke up, he was already making  tacos in the kitchen, asked her

if she’d ever had tacos for breakfast before, like making or eating tacos

was something she’d never done before. She was very polite

acted appropriately respectful and polite, because

she wanted to get a ride home instead of having to navigate the bus

all the way from L.A. to Orange County.

 

It took so many weeks of avoiding phone calls

looking through the curtains before leaving for work

checking the parking lot through another set of curtains

before leaving work to catch the bus to go home

before he finally decided

they weren’t in love after all.

Holly's writing has recently appeared in , and Day’sAnalog SF, The Hong Kong ReviewAppalachian Journal. She currently teaches at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, the Richard  Hugo House in Washington, and WriterHouse in Virginia.