THIS WEEK IN NYC 
 
 
MANHATTAN CHRONICLES GLIMPSE
by CRAIG ROSEN
January 2010
 
Three in a Room
Two people in the room with me
           
              We share the same thought and sit quietly listening to her breathe. An evening breeze enters through the window and touches our skin. Cars hum distant and low like the ocean. Her loose shirt opens to my glance. His body’s on the bed, legs bent firmly together. For a second she gazes at him. Her blue eyes swim slowly across the room, searching for lost words. There are none. The breeze moves only the hairs on my arm. I look up at the ceiling and the golden glow of the light massages my eyes. I hear her say something about the bathroom, in a whisper. Her small, light shape lifts from the chair.  Soft legs brush against my knees. She leaves the room and my head clears. He doesn’t change from his position when I speak. “You think she’s thinking about it, too?”

            “Of course. She has to be.”

            “Why can’t we talk about it, y’know, just say-”

            “I know, man, but we can’t.” I watch her come in and sit down again. Her legs cross and bare feet wiggle slightly. I wonder about the other dorm rooms, are they as small as this? In the Village, we all live in tight spaces, crammed together inside and out. My voice is like a whisper, too. “What’s it like growing up in a small town?”

            “Sort of sheltered,” she says, hesitating to lick her think lips.

            “How so?” The question comes from the pillow. I turn at the sound of her swallowing. She lifts one leg and wedges it under her other one. Little breasts move beneath her shirt. She sighs. From the corner of my eye I see him stretching, turning to lie on his back. I want her to say something. She swallows. “You get curious about a lot of things.” The hallway outside of the door is completely still. Her words hang in the air around us. He switches positions on the bed and rests his head on his hands. Dark eyes stare directly into her young face. She looks at the rug, aware of our silence. The breeze is slight, like words spoken in whispers. We have finished talking for the night. She knows that. He is lying quietly but won’t sleep until he’s alone. Our thoughts are already dreams.