By Tess Callahan
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Additional info for April & Oliver
On one hand, April needed someone with her, but did it have to be him? He could have taken her to his father’s place, or Bernadette’s. Then he would have nothing to explain to Bernadette or himself. As it is, he doesn’t plan to mention anything; his second inconsistency of the day, and it’s barely nine in the morning. As traffic merges into the tunnel, Oliver becomes aware of a melody in his head. Has it been there since he first woke up? Haunting and hypnotic, it feels like a Beethoven piece, but it’s not.
After midnight the schedule slows, and the apartment is quiet for longer intervals. At 3 am, he awakens with a start. The room is faintly lit by the glow of the station. April paces in the dark, touching the walls, her hands moving like a mime testing imaginary confines. Oliver sits up, meaning to console her, but he feels tranquilized. April traces a crack in the wall with her fingertips. Oliver stands groggily, bumping the coffee table, and makes his way to her. “Listen,” she says. ” Oliver squeezes her shoulders.
I just thought . ” “There’s a bottle of aspirin in the bathroom,” she says, coming toward him. “Knives in the kitchen. A train platform across the street. ” She is so close he can see condensation on her skin, droplets of moisture in her hair. She smells like grass after heavy rain. ” She closes the drawer with her hip and leans against it. He moves her aside and, to his own surprise, reopens the drawer. Folded inside a satin slip is an envelope bulging with photographs. He leafs through them, grainy black-and-whites, mostly taken at a distance: April tending bar, buying a newspaper, filling her gas tank.
April & Oliver by Tess Callahan