Being in her place for the first time and having not known Monica for long at all, Kirk immediately assumed that her mania for collecting predated the current state of affairs and was nothing more than an affectation; a neurosis carefully chosen for its quirkiness and charm, but also for its potential to create occasional, low-level drama and draw some much-desired attention.
Kirk found that he had allowed himself to become entirely judgmental in a time when one might expect people to open their hearts to their fellow citizens, if only out of sheer self-preservation…
He had also found that he was unafraid to be vocal about his judgment.
“I like your living room set. It’s from the Grey Gardens collection, right?”
“No,” Monica yelled louder than necessary through the paper-thin bedroom door that wasn‘t more than ten feet away. “I got it from my neighbors’ place. One day they were just gone, lock, stock and barrel, except for that couch and those chairs, so I nabbed ‘em before the bank or some other leftovers could come and snag ‘em.”
Monica stepped out of the bedroom in a completely different Joan Jett t-shirt than the one she’d had on when she’d gone in to change.
“No,” Kirk corrected. “I meant…”
“Oh, no. I get it. I have a lot of junk and you’re very clever. I just didn’t have a funny reply for your playful jab at the state of my place, but I did have a regular answer, so I just used that one.” Monica explained without inflection or eye contact as she transferred her cell phone, three tampons, seven AA batteries, two keys and approximately forty three dollars in crumpled bills and loose coins from a small purse to a larger purse.
Kirk withered. “I was just…”
“Kidding? I know. That’s why I used the words ‘clever’ and ‘playful’ to describe what you said. Do you see a watch with a gold band?” she asked as her gaze slid around the room like a stoned sniper.
“I don’t,” Kirk said before his eyes even left Monica, where they’d been stitched since she’d walked back in the room. “I mean, I uhh… let me look.” That last said with diminishing volume such that the word “look” was nothing more than Kirk’s tongue silently flicking his upper palatte as he made an “oo” shape with his lips. He earnestly began scanning the stacks of paint-by-numbers kits and vintage coffee cans. Somehow, in the hurly burly, a bit of yellow caught Kirk’s eye. He reached into a mound of identical princess bear beanie babies and pulled out a small, brass raygun.
Monica looked up. “Oh, I need that too,” she said, plucking the gun from Kirk’s limp grasp. “Like they say, ‘Be ready.’”
