8. Time is a Liar

Zug came home after dark all covered in white dust from the mine. Standing under the yellow bug light on the porch, he looked like a primitive man at a ceremony. He was also naked.

"Honey, I'm home."

Connie was in the bedroom face down on the bed. She had been crying into her hands on the pillow. She wore fitted cigarette-length jeans, dirty white anklets, and a short-sleeve pink cashmere v-neck.

"What is it honey. I'm gonna shower off."

Zug stood under the warm water thinking about how they'd met. "I liked how you said that Shivas society denies women their dark power in class today," she'd stayed behind to comment. It was a wine-colored v-neck. Three years of nights since then they'd never been apart.

Cement Basics was considered by most academics to be more than just a required transfer-level course for geocareers. It laid the foundation for social mores in industry, and intertwined, for natives, their very bloodline with a set of values that could be reliably shared with others in a reasonably wide geocultural area. For migrants, Cement could be an a) eye-opener, b) a confirmation of expected prejudices, or c) something presented in a language not understood.

For Connie, it was all about Zug. Even before the semester had ended, they were going down to Damp Ditch most every Sunday to shoot heroin and toss shards of glass into the rainbow-like reflections in the slurry. Like the Bible-in-Life comic books she had read as a child, the two of them seemed to be applying principals and making use of cultural artifacts that others could only wonder about hypothetically or physically engage with every day without any conscious consideration.

He felt guilty now, as at the end of every shower. It meant turning off the water, stepping off the stone, and walking back in to her, and to that which he had created. Or wandered into. Or not resisted. Or it was accidental-on purpose. Whatever. He emerged in a cloud of steamy talc now and sat on the bed in his towel.

"Honey, we have to talk."

Her silence was encouraging. Maybe tonight she was ready to listen and to get real.

"Look. Even though it was just that one time with Zick. And I never dreamed I would be sharing my testimony at a Shivans with Herpes group. You know how bad I feel about it. Even so, was it ever a good idea. I mean... if you want to leave... I think you should."

Connie might have responded something like, "Thanks for your honesty, Z. " And, "No, I don't think it wasn't a good idea at first, but I kinda have to agree with you it's over now." More likely, she would have come up with something like, "You asshole! I gave you the best... I gave you my forties!" No. She probably would have just sat up, wiped off her face, and gone to pee.

But Connie did not happen to be living just then.