"Not-Myrtle" by Francine Witte

Not-Myrtle

Of all the things I could be doing tonight, I have chosen to fall in love with you, which is kind of like swimming bare-assed in the Everglades, alligator snap all around, trying to ignore that you just hit on my best friend, Tess, who I plainly saw you buying a dirty martini for and trying to stand out from the rest, what with Tess always being the beautiful one, and I’m lucky if I even get seen, how we can walk into a bar and me with my cat eyeliner and contour jawline and Tess in her I-didn’t-have-time-to-change-after-work pantsuit, the kind that Hilary would wear, but somehow Tess fills it out in non-Hilary ways, what with her bump of hip and jut of boob, and even with Tess looking over at me as if to say I’m sorry I’m so fucking beautiful, and me wanting to say, you don’t have to say you’re beautiful, everyone can see it, and Manhattans are hurling themselves towards her even though she never asked, and she’s all no thank you, no thank you, and this is my best friend Myrtle, even though that isn’t my name, we use pretend names just in case, and it might as well really be Myrtle for all anyone even cares, and like I said, I could have been doing any number of things tonight, crossword puzzles or pulling pimento out of those olives because really, no red food, but here I am giving the universe one more try, and you look at me, with that After-Tess in your eyes that I have seen so many times I could put it on a postage stamp, and I see you are just a little less alligator than most, because I also saw how you had to throw back a shot or two before you could walk over to Tess in the first place, her with her pearl-necklace smile and nothing but no thank you no thank you for your trouble, and how she turned you towards me and said, this is my friend, Myrtle, who is really good at crosswords and eye makeup and when I finally saw your eyes looking straight at me, I could see a half a dozen alligator bites already in them, and I’m thinking that maybe it might be okay to try to put together all our chewed-up parts, you and me, and see if they form one pretty good thing.

FRANCINE WITTE

Francine Witte’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Smokelong Quarterly, Wigleaf, Mid-American Review, and Passages North. Her latest books are Dressed All Wrong for This (Blue Light Press,) The Way of the Wind (AdHoc fiction,) and The Theory of Flesh (Kelsay Books) She is flash fiction editor for Flash Boulevard and The South Florida Poetry Journal. Her chapbook, The Cake, The Smoke, The Moon (flash fiction) was published by ELJ Editions in September, 2021. She lives in NYC.

Headshot Credit: Mark Strodl

Photo Credit: Staff