Ben Tanzer called me a reckless lunatic. I threw it into reverse. I said, I don’t care, Ben. That old woman made you cry, and I don’t like to see you treated like some idiot. My coffee emptied into my lap. I didn’t see the furniture truck until it began to crawl into my mouth. Ben Tanzer exploded on impact. Why are Wednesdays always so hard? I said.
I took Ben Tanzer for a walk per the usual Thursday ritual. Have you ever pondered the wavelengths of certain light? I asked him, his leg aloft to the probable ire of a young spruce. He didn’t pause; he never even broke expression.
Ben, I asked—
I heard you, he said.
So have you ever—
The room could have existed anywhere when I awoke. I focused on a crack in the ceiling. Ben Tanzer? Tanzer. Isn’t he that writer guy who’s married to the chick from the Hold Steady or something? Yeah, I know Ben Tanzer.
I was sleepy-eyed and waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I’m gonna be here until Sunday with this, I said. I really gotta get me a new Ben Tanzer. Tomorrow. I nodded in agreement. Tomorrow.