Cut from what I'm working on now

“We never really know what’s going on in other people’s lives.”

            Sloane swallowed hard. It was unclear whether David and Edwin had said something or if Poppy was here of her own accord. Bidden, perhaps, by the dueling memes on the Internet.

            “We certainly don’t,” Sloane managed, holding on rather uselessly to her mother’s address.

            “I’m sorry,” said Poppy, patting the pockets of her kimono jacket. “I should have brought a flask. Anyway, say nothing,” she held up her hand. “The word on the street is that Edwin’s got edibles. Which will help.”

            Before Sloane could ask if these were meant to help Sloane in particular or the group at large, Poppy reached her hand out for piece of paper carrying her mother’s New York address. She spent a little time scrutinizing it, as if there were more than an address written there.  

            “I should send a card,” Sloane said, suddenly embarrassed. “Otherwise it makes no sense.”

            “Context is important.”

            Sloane sat down on the bed with a pad of hotel stationary and a pen.

            “I always travel with greeting cards,” said Poppy. “Because you never know. Want me to run and get you one? They’re fruit scented.”

            Sloane looked down at the empty piece of paper. All she could think to write was, HELP.

            “I’m sorry. I’m being nosy. I’m being…that was silly about the greeting cards. I don’t know a thing about your mom.”

            “My mom used to send me three birthday cards, all in separate envelopes,” Sloane said, stilling her pen. “When I first moved to France. I’d always ask her, why not just put them all in a manila envelope?”

            “Why three cards?”

            Poppy’s inquiry made it obvious that this, in fact, was the real question.

            “Oh,” she said. “She couldn’t decide.”

            “I’m sorry,” Poppy said, kneading her fingers. “But is it really true that your husband’s done with sex? Because I don’t, we don’t,” she turned her hands up. “With my husband. So it’s not something I’d miss. But I don’t know, that, maybe…”

            “It’s something I would miss.” Sloane had managed to silence her with her refusal to use ‘will.’ Her marital tense was conditional. The future could be perfect.

            She turned her attention back to the piece of paper. Wrote, Mom. I miss you back.

            “I am sorry,” said Poppy, rising. “I’m really not trying to be…whatever you think I’m trying to be.”

            Life had made Sloane defensive. She was sad to feel this. Sad to realize the world had hardened her to a point where even concern felt like an offense.

            “Forgive me,” Sloane said, holding on still to the piece of paper. “I’m not myself this…year.”

             “None of us are.” Poppy took the paper. “Two day priority alright?”

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            “Oh,” Sloane responded, taken aback by the thoughtfulness of such a gesture. “Sure! I guess I could, what would be nice would be, my mom…” she held the door ajar for Poppy to pass through.

            “Mine’s going to my stepkids. Trust me,” she said, watching Sloane’s brows raise. “I know. It’s hard when it’s step children. The whole self branding thing.” she made a hand gesture haloing herself. “People don’t want to hear what you’re doing for them unless they come from your own womb. Anyway, that yours?”

            They both looked at the massive chocolate likeness of The Future on Sloane’s bed.

            “So, this has been something, huh?” asked Poppy. Indicating the hotel, the tour, Sloane’s life, Sloane’s book.

            “There have been some unexpected turns,” Sloane responded, sitting at the desk to scribble out her mother’s address with the hotel pen.

            “You know,” Poppy was messing with the coffee capsules on the commode now, sorting them by color. “If you ever want to talk. I’m a little bit more of a…than you might think.”

            More of a what? More than what?

       

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            “There’s really no hope for any of us, is there,” asked Edwin with a shoulder heave. “We’re just living in a mall.” He looked up at Sloane with a bemused self-pity. “My kids, they’re good people. And these kids—” he gestured to the floor above them. “They seem like good people, too. But it doesn’t matter any more.” He shook his head despondently. “What’s frottage?”

            “Will you two do me a favor?” Sloane asked, ignoring the question by getting to her feet. “Would you two agree to get really drunk with me tonight?”

            “At your service,” said David, sweeping his hand across his belly.
            “I’ll get a head start,” said Edwin, lifting up an imaginary glass.

            “The world might be ending, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?”

            “In-sou-ci-ant,” said Edwin, drawing the word out. “Like all the kids.”

            Sloane coaxed her hair into a disheveled bun. “And frottage, Edwin,” she said, twisting the stray pieces into place, “is the sexualized rubbing of two people’s body sections. My husband just publicly endorsed such aforementioned rubbing against the inner thigh.”

            “Tough week,” said David, with a grin.

            “Learn something every day,” whistled Edwin.

            “And while we’re at it,” Sloane continued, “the aspirational lawn care thing? It isn’t actually bullshit. People are going to be painting instead of watering their lawns. Because of water shortages. So, you know, Poppy,” she shrugged. “She might be on our side.”

            “I find you pretty benevolent for a person with a meme,” countered David.

            She parted her lips to retaliate something clever, but then she saw apparent seriousness in his eyes. These two people, or at least this one person, appeared to think that Sloane was in possession of a decent soul. And she thought the same thing about them. The world was a despicable, hopeless place until it wasn’t. There were still some reasons to rejoice. The smell of charcoals heating in a barbecue. Birthday candle light swaying with the force of an exhale. It was impossible, to be run through with this deep will to survive. To not just survive, but to enjoy one’s time on the planet. To forgive, forget, to fall in and out of love. So much beauty bookmarked by such fathomless stupidity. It could make you go insane weighing whether or not to give up.

            Sloane took her leave of the two gentlemen to go and ready her slideshow on the interpersonal applications of convenient things.