I take his waist and he crumbles. Like a nesting doll, I pull him open and he disappears under all that sweater. Those skim milk shoulders glow with welts.
I move into his 200 square foot apartment where he has lived for years, before the area became a high end department store. He kicked all previous girlfriends out after two days. We survive the proximity. A plant that is always about to die sits on the fire escape, a half fridge and stove is in the living room; appliances we never use.
He wore an Anne Taylor suit with a cute satin extension at the hem. Gold earrings with tear-shaped pearls dangled from both lobes. He tried not to, but he kept playing with the charm around his neck during the interview, but the board loved all his answers. “It would be nice,” he heard Peterson say, “if we could get some diversity in the upper ranks, right gentleman?”
My dad takes me to my first horserace when I’m twelve. We put down fifty dollars on Jackson Five. A trumpet screams out the Call to the Post. Jackson Five struts out with a jockey clad in purple diamonds on light blue silks. His coat is the color of ancient ink. The starting gate closes, and Jackson Five bucks against the metal. He whinnies and tries to jump, thrashes the gate. They close the door behind him, and he calms down.