Golda on the Bus
We met on the M4, where my friend Q takes pictures.
He took a photo of us, me and Golda, hugging.
My mother was proud. If her daughter's got to be, you know, God forbid, but if she must, it might as well be with Golda.
Mrs. Meir and I had feelings, that is, between us.
I could sense that Golda had my depth and I had hers all these years; and few, perhaps many, knew she had feelings for me, or women, but especially me, because we fell in love in Manhattan at 2 am when we were riding the M4 on the Upper East Side where you can see the river.
We walked home together near the wired fence.
My mother would love Q's Polaroid, so I brought it to her restaurant.
An ex-girlfriend and old nemeses were there. Nemeses and exes are always jealous of you and that is why they are what they are.
The ex wore a white hat because she had just graduated from cooking school. She was overly excited by her existence, but I couldn't muster a word or two, though we sat at the same table.
When Nemesis #1 saw my picture, she replied, "Oh Golda has posed with several of my friends on Kibbutz Gezer," which is where they grow carrots in places not uprooted by tunnels.
Nemesis #2 was not the least bit impressed with my new inamorata and ripped up the photograph, which was like removing an irreplaceable rib or tearing off a year's worth of work on your resume.
She didn't care, Nemesis #2, and I punched her in the face.
No one at the table, including my ex, bearing her chef's hat, could comprehend why I would punch her.
"She destroyed my Golda," I said.
I tried to repair the damage, you know, use tape or Elmer's Glue, but Nemesis #2 was dead set on preventing this—she jumped on me.
Finally, three Israeli security guards, who were always present whether Golda or her photographs were around, tackled Nemesis #2, who had been hounding me since the time she requested I pick up a used condom in front of everyone in our high school cafeteria.
Nemesis #2 was on the floor.
The Israeli guards gave me my pieces.
I looked to see if they would make a puzzle, which would be good enough to impress my mother, but they were just scraps that I held in my hand, which would now and then help me recall Golda on the M4.
Eleanor Levine's work has appeared in Hobart, Fiction, Fiction Southeast, Monkeybicycle, The Denver Quarterly, The Toronto Quarterly, Gravel, Chronopolis, Thrice Fiction, Gertrude, Everyday Genius, Barrelhouse, The Intima, IthacaLit, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Barely South Review, Roadside Fiction and other publications. Her work is forthcoming in Split Lip Magazine's new book series, Utter Foolery: The Best Global Literary Humor (2015), Right Hand Pointing and Juked.