Soon Parted

by Martha Hipley

“How old are you?” the man asked the girl. It was the first thing he had ever said to her after a year of working the same hours in different sections of the same department store. She was surprised that he remembered her name and that he had tagged along to the restaurant where everyone in her section had all gone on this Friday to celebrate her departure. She was graduating university and was also, quite fortunately, graduating from their shared misery of minimum wage pay to a research position in her area of study on the other side of the continent.
          “Why do you ask?” she replied.
          “Now that we aren’t coworkers, I can ask you out.”
          “How old are you?” she asked.
          “Thirty-seven,” he said.
          “She’s a student,” said her shift manager.
           The man said nothing else.
          They all drank until the restaurant closed at 10 PM, which was plenty of time to get drunk on 2-for-1 frozen margaritas. The girl took the bus home, split one more drink with her roommate, and then laid in bed, flicking through videos on her phone and hoping that she would never have to think about any of her coworkers or that terrible job again. At midnight, she fell asleep.
          The man took a different bus home, drank two more beers, and dug through his company email for the managers’ directory of store employees. At 1 AM, he saved her number to his phone, drank another beer, and started a new chat.
          hey 
          it’s me
          got ur number from the directory
          sry if I was weird. u seem cool
          sorry to bother u
          nite
          The man found one last beer in the fridge and drank it. He touched himself, took a photo, sent it to the girl, and slept.
          At 4 AM, he woke up to vomit. He stared at the messages with self-revulsion and sent two more.
          omg so sry pls delete. was really drunk and thinkigg with my dick
          good luck in portland 

● ● ● 

At 8 AM, the man woke a second time to find both his head and penis throbbing.
          “Fuck,” said the man.
          “Finally, Sleeping Beauty awakes!” said his penis.
          The man ripped off the covers and sat up in bed. His penis stood tall to face him.
        “Where do you think you’re going?” asked the penis. “I don’t appreciate you sullying my name to save your own. Do I have hands to stroke myself or to take a photo? Do I have eyes to memorize the shape and size of a woman’s breasts or a brain to hold that memory and regurgitate it at will? Frankly, I’m tired of taking the blame for your bad behavior. We’re through!”
          With that the penis began to wrench and contort itself. The man screamed in pain.
          “This will only take a moment if you’d just hold still,” said the penis. It twisted itself around and around, tightening the skin around its base. It throbbed and swelled and turned a deep shade of purple before it finally snapped off from the man’s groin like a fruit snapping off a vine. The man writhed and sobbed and clutched at the now vacant space between his legs.
          “Don’t be a baby,” said the penis as it flopped up to his chest and leaned towards him with an accusatory angle. “You got what you deserve. Just because I came into this world with you doesn’t mean I have any sense of obligation.”
          The man said nothing.
          The penis hopped to the edge of the bed, tumbled to the floor, and then scooted like an inchworm to the bedroom door. “I’ll see myself out now,” it said. The man was too overcome with pain and confusion to understand how the penis opened the door, but it did. With scissors it found in the kitchen, the penis fashioned a shoulder bag and a dapper little outfit out of a pair of socks that the man had abandoned on the living room floor. It filled the bag with the man’s transit card and some cash taken from his wallet. 

● ● ● 

By the time the doorbell rang, the girl had already taken a screenshot of the messages from the man, sent it to seven friends, and then discussed the messages in detail with her roommate over day-old coffee and cereal. They debated sending the screenshot to her shift manager. The girl’s roommate believed she should, for the sake of feminism. The girl didn’t, or at least, she believed she shouldn’t until she had received her last paycheck. The girl’s roommate jumped up with delight at the sound of the bell, hoping that a package had arrived.
          “What the hell. There’s no one here,” said the roommate when she opened the front door.
        “It’s those fucking kids down the street again,” said the girl as she approached. “Excuse me, misses,” said the penis. The girl and her roommate looked down. “I believe my previous body has wronged one of you, and I am just stopping by to ask for your forgiveness. Not for him, but for myself. I hate to think that he is still using me as an excuse for his own bad behavior, so, as you can see, I’ve set off to make my own way. Maybe I will find a new body who can provide a more honest and wholesome collaboration, or maybe I will end my days as a solitary soul. Only time will tell!”
          “What the fuck?” said the girl.
        “Life is too short to associate oneself with liars and perverts. I bid you adieu. Good luck in Portland, my dear! Ad astra!” The penis turned and flopped down the front steps like a Slinky.
          “Jesus Christ,” said the girl’s roommate.
          “I can’t wait to get out of this town,” said the girl.
        The girl's roommate took a video of the penis as it rolled on its side down the sidewalk and around the corner. She spent twelve minutes selecting the perfect filters and then synced the video to a snippet from a song that was written before she was born. She posted the video on her social media feed, and flicked the screen over and over to watch the replies roll in.
          The girl commented: "lol or else I would k*ll myself."

Martha Hipley is a writer, artist, and filmmaker from Baltimore, Maryland who lives and works in Mexico City. Her stories have been published in Witcraft, Maudlin House, and New Limestone Review. When not writing, she enjoys training as a triathlete and boxer and exploring flea markets.