She looks forward to the morning commute. She’ll ride the subway to the end of the line and take two buses to the warehouse where she’ll take her place on the line next to Deb, a lifer married to Brad who’s always on the road, and Marlene, a late 40s pre-op transsexual who keeps her hair in a net because it gets frizzy in the humidity.
The snack boxes make their way toward them, the first row already complete: gum, lozenges, and mints. She readies her stock and fans them into place in the second and third row: a pack each of Peek Freans, Lemon Crisp, Digestives, Arrowroot, Fruit Creme, Nice, Shortcake, and two packs each of Dad’s Oatmeal and Oreo cookies.
She notices one of the Dad’s cookies has a tear in the wrapper. Once the boxes have moved down the line, she rips the package open, popping a cookie in her mouth whole. She wonders if she and Marlene could be friends, if Marlene wants friends. Cheeks full, she doesn’t swallow, and waits for Marlene to stop fussing with her net and look her way so she can test the waters by opening wide.
READER
Caucasian female, late 30s, with short, spiky blond hair, wearing baggy jeans, brown sneakers, and grey hoodie under secondhand orange, blue, and yellow ski vest.
We Need to Talk About Kevin
Lionel Shriver
(Harper Perennial, 2006)
p 56