He watches his daughter kiss her boyfriend, then sighs loudly. She gives her father a cold glare. He lifts his leg and lets a loud one rip. The boyfriend shakes his head, reluctantly thanks her dad for dinner, and leaves their house.

“He’s like a bad pierogi on your plate,” the father says while finishing his beer.

“You don’t like him because I like him.” She pauses, then adds for effect, “I love him.”

“You don’t need to get all weepy-eyed on me. Love. You’re twenty-three years old. Hell, you’ll be in and outta love so many more damn times in your life, this dude will be a distant memory. You better write his name down somewhere and keep it safe because one day years from now you won’t even remember his name.”

“And you’re the expert on love? You haven’t been on a date in years.”

“Trust me, I’ve had plenty of dates in my life.”

“Right. I’m glad Mom is married so I have one decent role model in my life.”

“Your mother the saint.”

The next night the daughter and boyfriend go out dancing. After a few beers, she starts loosening up, and she wants to really let loose. She downs a couple more beers and begins her wild manic dancing. People move aside, and she and her boyfriend take over the floor. Her elbow hits a woman in the eye. Hard. She steps on someone else’s feet. People clap. People bitch.

She grabs another beer. They dance more wildly.

When the bar closes, they walk back to her apartment and have sloppy drunken sex.

“I love dancing with you,” she coos. He’s sound asleep.

Later, she gets up to go to the bathroom. Walking back to bed, she sees the gun
sticking out of his coat pocket.

She turns on the bedroom light. “What the fuck is this?” she screams, carrying his
coat because she refuses to touch the gun.

He covers his eyes from the light and mumbles something about it being his coat. “No, this,” she screams, dangling the gun over his head. “You know what that is.” He grabs his coat. “What’s wrong?”

“This is what’s wrong. You carry a gun! You never said anything about owning a gun.”

“And why would I? Look at how you are reacting. It’s just a gun.”

“Just a gun! I don’t know who you are any more.”

She starts crying. He leans over making a feeble attempt to provide comfort.

“Leave!”

“Baby, I won’t carry the gun anymore. I didn’t know it’d upset you so much.”

“You are the bad pierogi on a plate!” she screams.

He’s not sure what she means but he puts his coat on and leaves.

Sometimes that’s all it takes: a bad pierogi and a gun.

# # #

Diane Payne’s most recent publications include: Watershed Review, Tishman Review, Whiskey Island, Kudzu House Quarterly, Superstition Review, Burrow Press, and Cheat River Review. She has work forthcoming in The Offing and a chapbook with Blue Lyra Press.