Okay. So maybe there’s something to that Beyoncé song…
Fiction In Three Parts
Justine — Part One
Richard stood with his friends at a post-concert party given for a hometown band that had finally cracked the bigtime. He finished his drink and cradled the empty glass in one hand. The fingers of his other hand tapped his thigh absently in time with the music. He’d come to the party with Justine, but she was dancing on the other side of the room with Ben. Every now and then as Richard watched them, his tapping fingers came together in a fist.
By nature, Richard was a quieter sort, stoic even, not prone to sudden outbursts or lengthy external or internal explorations of emotion. He was not above poking fun, drinking, and trading humorous anecdotes with his friends such as the one his buddy, Greg, the band’s singer and rhythm guitarist, was recounting that night. Richard heard the beginning of the story, but it trailed off for him like a loud radio in a car passing by and disappearing down the street.
When it came to letting his feelings be known, Richard would most often wait until he was asked a pointed question or was poked with the proverbial stick. Even then, internal clarity was not his strongest trait. If anyone had asked if he was jealous, as he stood there staring and pretending to listen, he would have said, no, why should he be? The two were only…
