The Play

Cheryl heard a key in the door and turned to see her roommate walk into the apartment.

"How was the play?" she asked.

Brandi placed her purse on the coffee table, sat on the couch, and kicked off her shoes.

"It was sad. There was a scene where a boy threw a brick through the window of a mean neighbor and ran away. The neighbor, who had been drinking, walked to the window with a bottle in his hand and missed seeing who threw the brick. He was so overwrought with grief that he didn't care and waved it off, stumbling into the living room to continue staring at a blank television screen."

"Wow, that sounds intense. Is that why you came home early?"

"Yeah. I didn't want to go out for a drink and asked Hank to bring me home. He'll call me later to say goodnight."

"You're really in love with him?"

"Yes, I am so in love with Hank." She leaned her head against the back of the couch. "I just hope he doesn't turn out to be like the character in the play."

"Hank doesn't seem like that kind of guy."

Brandi took a deep breath. "No, I don't think he's that kind of guy, but one never knows what can drive a person to do crazy things like that."

Cheryl turned off the muted television. "I think you worry too much and that kind of play didn't help you, my friend. Have a good talk with Hank tonight before going to bed. Then you can cook a nice pancake breakfast in the morning."

"I don't mind cooking," she called out to her friend's back. "I rather enjoy it."

Cheryl stepped out of her bedroom's doorway. "That's why I said you're cooking. Love ya, girl. Goodnight."