A he-said-she-said story that is told from his perspective through her perspective through his perspective.
A dry story begins breathlessly and turns humorously into a snake that eats itself: self-reflexive, self-aware, and ironic.
[This was funny, but I suspect it was funny only in the context:]
He closed the magazine, looked at the cover image and the headlines, picked up his phone to look up their circulation numbers, estimated what an advertisement would cost, wondered what she had been paid, and tried to find some information on what a person might be paid for such a story, but while he was scrolling through a three-year-old thread on a message board in which several avatars made speculations about this magazine’s going rate for short fiction and whether it would change on the basis of the relative fame or obscurity of the author, his phone rang and his ex-wife’s name appeared on the screen, as if she could still tell — no matter how far away she was — that he was dicking around instead of reading.
Read this at the stage when your break-up is at the stage of your thinking you’ve gotten over it.
[Lots of details of postmodernism and irony here, worthy of study, but I suspect the story is beyond the experience of most high school students’ experience.]
Violations by Catherine Lacey