South Philadelphia, 2003: Name Forgotten, PlanetOut Date
When we met at the diner—security at every
entrance after nightfall, the occasional bullet hole
in plate glass, a spinning case of cheesecakes,
left sweating—I was shocked to find myself
on a first date with two people, one a man who,
with reason, hated me. She had failed to mention
she would be bringing her ex-fiancé. She had failed
to mention she had an ex-fiancé, that they broke up
when she came out just weeks before, or that they still
lived together. He hardly blinked as he sat across
from us and she ran her hand along my thigh beneath
the table while I depended on French fries for company.
His disgust was thick as the table’s fingerprint scrim.
At the arrival of the check, she held the menu up
before him so that our faces could meet unwatched.
Sober, I had no desire, and I couldn’t wait to tell
someone: craziest part is they went home together.
Return to Archive
FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 55 | Spring/Summer 2020