Page 4 of Missed Exit

She bends down to pick up the footboard to her bed. There’s no way she can lift that alone. I set my beer bottle on the porch railing and walk toward her. “Hold on. I’ll help you with—”

Before I can reach her, she lifts one end of it and starts dragging it across the concrete.

“Stop! That’s nice wood. You’re going to ruin it. Let me help. Please.”

“I flipped you off on the freeway.”

“Yes. And I’ll cherish the memory, always.”

“Because you cut me off.”

“I do not remember that part.”

“Well, you did.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“How about an apology?”

“Oh, I guess I thought the part where you flipped me off negated the need for that.”

She stares at me, standing her ground with her end of the footboard still raised.

I remind myself that I’m the one who initiated this interaction, so I try again. “You want to tell me your name?”

“Greta. Greta Gaines.”

“I am very sorry if I cut you off in traffic, Greta Gaines.” I lift the other end of the footboard. “That would be a great stage name, by the way. Sorry. Hazard of the industry.”

I take a step forward as she unceremoniously drops her end of the footboard, causing me to stumble into my end. “What the hell? Why did you do that?”

“Did you just insinuate that I’m a stripper?”

“Not in English.”

“You said I had a greatstage name.”

“That’s not the kind of stage I meant. It’s a great name for a singer. Are you a singer, by any chance?”

“No.”

“Welp, then congratulations. You’ve got a good-for-nothing name as far as I can tell. You want to help me move this inside now?”

“Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Law. Law Davis.”

“Law?”

“Short for Lawson, but pretty much only my mama calls me that.”

“Your mama, huh? You’re obviously a Texas boy.”

“And with that twang in your voice, you’re obviously a Texas girl. After we move all your stuff, we can compare family trees, but if you wouldn’t mind—”

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