Friday, April 29, 2016

Antibiotics

77 Weeks

It's Easter 2016. I'm standing on my brother-in-law's deck behind his house in Connecticut. The sun is out. My mother-in-law is sitting with my niece. Ren is playing with a cousin, and Greg and I look at each other. How did we get here?

(...as they stand on 19th Street. It's almost exactly five years after 9/11. Suddenly—a long, deep and intimate kiss. They pour into each other a gush of loving expression. Their first.)

"I thought you were sick."

"I am. I'm sorry. I couldn't help..."

"I couldn't either."

(Pause. They blush. They smile.)

"Thank you for an amazing night."

"No. Thank you."

"This is going to be really hard. Not telling everyone."

"They'll know."

"Probably."

"Yeah."

"Let's get you in a cab."

"OK. Yeah."

(They lean in.)

"One more. I'm sorry. I can't help it."

"I'm going to get your cold..."

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