The Man in the Window

by Jon Cohen

“You’re going to kill yourself, running around in the dark like that,” he’d say to her. “If I do,” she whispered, her words mushy and toothless, “don’t you dare look at me until they get my dentures in.” “Hell, LuLu. What you so sensitive about your teeth for? I got a hook! I’m missing my entire hand! I’m the one who should be sensitive.” “But you’re a man, Arnie. It doesn’t matter to you in the same way. I was pretty once,” she said softly. Arnie reached out to touch her, with his hook he realized at the last moment, so he shifted around and reached again with his good hand. “Not once. Still. You’re pretty, still.” “Sure. In the dark.” “In the dark I got my hand again, you got your teeth. There’s nothing wrong with the dark. You’re pretty, I’m handsome. We get to do it all over again.” “I’d like to do it all over again, Arnie.” “All of it?” “Most of it,” said LuLu. “The parts with you. The parts with you when my teeth were good.”