Ten. MODERATO

Yi-Chin Lo

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Ten. MODERATO

Yi-Chin Lo
Yi-Chin Lo

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This chapter is in the book Faraway

tenMODERATOHow impoverished our conversation is, I thought.As dusk fell, the woman’s features actually grew more distinct, thanks to her makeup. Perhaps exhausted from the day, she was leaning lazily in her seat. A moment ago, her shirt and jeans had seemed rather manly, but now their tiny embellishments— cartoon character patches, little tassels, pleats— winked out of the gloom.Just like that, she was utterly feminine.There were only the three of us left. The woman, me, and the sleeping child. The woman’s voice was soft and sandy. Twisting around, she idly lifted the cherry from her empty sundae glass and stirred the dregs of chocolate sauce. I felt a sudden stab of something akin to longing. If this child of mine were awake at this moment, how he’d covet that cherry.The woman looked completely relaxed, and something about the casual ease of her posture made me feel a particularly male form of humiliation. Just like with the rather developed girl who sat next to me at school and treated me only as a friend— she’d happily pluck her eyebrows or spray her armpits with deodorant in front of me, chatting away without any attempt at dignity.In the dark, I blushed as I did when I was young.Time shifted. I felt as if I had prepared for this moment very long ago. This scenario. A middle- aged woman. A middle- aged man. A child.The woman and man sat across from each other, drinking. The boy had been horsing around earlier but was now sound asleep.

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tenMODERATOHow impoverished our conversation is, I thought.As dusk fell, the woman’s features actually grew more distinct, thanks to her makeup. Perhaps exhausted from the day, she was leaning lazily in her seat. A moment ago, her shirt and jeans had seemed rather manly, but now their tiny embellishments— cartoon character patches, little tassels, pleats— winked out of the gloom.Just like that, she was utterly feminine.There were only the three of us left. The woman, me, and the sleeping child. The woman’s voice was soft and sandy. Twisting around, she idly lifted the cherry from her empty sundae glass and stirred the dregs of chocolate sauce. I felt a sudden stab of something akin to longing. If this child of mine were awake at this moment, how he’d covet that cherry.The woman looked completely relaxed, and something about the casual ease of her posture made me feel a particularly male form of humiliation. Just like with the rather developed girl who sat next to me at school and treated me only as a friend— she’d happily pluck her eyebrows or spray her armpits with deodorant in front of me, chatting away without any attempt at dignity.In the dark, I blushed as I did when I was young.Time shifted. I felt as if I had prepared for this moment very long ago. This scenario. A middle- aged woman. A middle- aged man. A child.The woman and man sat across from each other, drinking. The boy had been horsing around earlier but was now sound asleep.

You are currently not able to access this content.

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