Buried Letter Press GONE September October 2015

rings. A real hibachi chef doesn’t need to do a test run with the onion slice, but she doesn’t seem bothered. She’s watching me like I’m putting on a real show. I pour a thin layer of vegetable oil into the stacked rings, and then add the vodka. It only takes a the tiniest bit.

I used to always add too much, but this time I do it right. I light the flame, and stand back. It burns bright and starts to smoke.

When the doorbell rings, we both jump. The flame burns brighter and extinguishes itself.

“You’re expecting someone?” I ask, for the second time tonight.

When she doesn’t answer, whoever it is knocks at the apartment door.

“Open up. It’s the police.”

“Oh God,” she says to herself. “Oh God.” The police. She looks as if she forgot that she called them, maybe like she regrets it, but she’s not moving an inch. She’s just looking at the onion like it’s still on fire. I pick the stack up with a spatula and set it back on the cutting board to break her focus.

“Ma’am,” the voice calls again. “Ma’am are you all right?”

“You have to answer it,” I tell her. “If you don’t, they might think something’s wrong. They might break down the door.”

“Right,” she says.

She walks to the foyer, and opens the door. I can hear her trying to call them off. Sound carries, and I hear her say, “I’m so sorry. It was a mistake.” They don’t believe her.

“Ma’am, you seem agitated. Let me come in and take a look around.”

“No, no. It’s okay, everything’s fine.”

“All the same,” a man says, and I can hear his footsteps as he pushes past her.

He’s tall and about my age, but I don’t know him. He’s kept his boots on and tracked in snow.

“Like I said,” she says to him. “It was a mistake. I didn’t realize Terry was coming over tonight, and when I heard the door open, I panicked.”

To tell the truth, I’m glad to know she called the police on me. It’s good to know she’s got some sense. I feel safer with her knowing she felt threatened when she heard me come in. Like if she hadn’t called, maybe it was me who should be worried about her