by Judy Voss
She thinks about drunk dialing.
Odd, she wonders. I’m not even drunk.
But I could get drunk. No. Not a good idea.
Though she hadn’t drunk dialed since college, she would occasionally get plastered.
She remembers her last boozing. Recent. The catastrophe of kissing William. William kissing her back. Deeply.
Sandra, his wife, slamming her hands on the table, shouting, “That’s it! Divorce!”
She recalls that William wasn’t Jack. In a haze she saw Sandra reaching for Jack. Jack responding. Deeply.
She decides there is no one, really, who she wants to talk to.
Or do I?
Perhaps a drink.
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