“I just need more space,” Jersey said, hands in dishwater.
“Space?” said Morris, “Space? How much fucking space do you need? I feel like I never see you.”
“I’m going through something, I don’t know. I need time,” she said, “and space.”
“You’re always going through something, Why don’t you join a convent? You could have all the time and space you need,” Morris dropped the damp dishtowel. “You already live like a nun.”
“What makes you think I’d have time and space at a convent?”said Jersey, “Those nuns are always working and hanging around together praying and stuff.”
“Yes, but there wouldn’t be some guy always begging for your attention. Well, maybe one guy.”
“Ha ha,” said Jersey. She turned out the light.
Jersey thought about Morris’s comment. A convent. The idea was very attractive. Sister Bertrille and the singing nun seemed happy. Bernadette had her vision. Audrey Hepburn looked gorgeous helping Peter Finch heal the sick in Africa. Maybe all Jersey needed was a mission. Some hard work, sacrifice, and suffering. Maybe Morris was right.
by: J. McElmurry