The Seventies

Written 54-D27 [2022-11-08], Edited 54-F27 [2023-01-03]

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Amanda thumbed through the records on the shelf, waiting for Marcus.

Beatles, Beatles, Beatles. Where are the Bee Gees? she thought.

She looked closer at the shelf of vinyls in vain. All of them Beatles? she thought. Really?

Amanda looked up from the shelf and gasped. Her toes curled in her clogs. Marcus was right next to her, silent like a spectre.

“Hey Marcus,” Amanda said. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Hi Amanda,” he said calmly, as always. His dorky shirt, and they were always dorky, depicted a supersonic aircraft.

When will this guy learn to dress himself? Amanda thought. But instead of saying that, she simply remarked “Interesting shirt.”

“Why thank you,” Marcus responded, even though Amanda technically hadn’t complimented him. “It’s the Concorde, if you must know.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said. “Can you help me find ‘Stayin Alive’ by the Bee Gees?”

Marcus and Amanda searched the record store shelf by shelf. She talked about the energy crisis, the Soviet-Afghan war, and her job prospects. He talked about the UNIX operating system and his recent trip to see his brother out of town.

But here and there he would pepper in one of those annoying questions.

“So Amanda, how’s your boyfriend doing?”

“What’s he like?”

“You know, this is a bit late, but you never told me your boyfriend’s name.”

And Amanda would respond.

“He’s doing his Master’s.”

“He knows a lot about history.”

“His name is Timothy.”

And each time she responded, Marcus' face would briefly twist into a scowl, or his eyes would dart wildly. But Marcus always tried to return to his neutral tone, his unnaturally gentle smile.

Marcus, you idiot, thought Amanda. Who are you trying to fool?

Eventually Amanda and Marcus walked up to the desk of the record store in frustration.

“Where are the Bee Gees?” Amanda asked.

“Sorry ma'am, the boss is all about the Beatles,” the cashier responded.

Amanda held her hands in frustration, which was definitely not the perfect time for Marcus to step in.

“So Timothy, is he more of a Bee Gees guy like you?” Marcus asked.

“Can you shut up about Timothy!?” demanded Amanda. “You have a problem with him? Then just spit it out!”

“I’m just curious about his taste in music,” Marcus lied.

“Goddamn it Marcus. Just let me live, just let me be.” Amanda said.

“Look Amanda, I only accused him of being a Soviet spy two or three times at most so can we get over that?”