101 Words

I sit at the table and remove my feet. I ponder whether to remove my lower leg but decide that would be too forward. My feet take their place next to the chair when doubt creeps in. Do I know this woman well enough to remove my limbs? Perhaps she didn’t notice. She’s younger than me, and might have different rules of etiquette.

Imagine my relief when she takes her seat and detaches her forearm. It crawls across the table and holds my hand. My feet creep across the carpet and settle next to hers. Our fingers dance around the plates.

Mom said their food was weird. Pop said they’ll ruin property prices. Jimmy said they talk funny. I went down the street to see the new neighbours for myself.

The oldster saw me staring into their yard and came over. He was friendly and gave me some candy. It tasted different, not weird. He spoke with a lisp.

I said I’d like to see his country someday. He said he missed it, but couldn’t go back, because of politics. And it was nice that the government let them live here.

I told Jimmy, “They’re just like us, except for the tentacles.”

This silence is new; one I’ve not heard before. He’s communicating in a different language. Before today, I’ve managed to translate all my husband’s silences. There are so many.

Silence of ignoring.

Muzzled boredom.

Wordless sulking.

Fingered sign language.

And the classic; storming away and feigning a loss of hearing. The deaf threat.

But this morning, I hold up that woman’s slutty message on his phone and I can’t comprehend whether his silence is telling me nothing; or whether it’s telling me everything.

His dogged muteness is echoing around the room, smothering my piercing screams, shattering the silence that I need.

They shared the tiny chalet, together but apart.

She picnicked outside in sunshine while he was stuck indoors.

When it rained he flew out to shelter her, but she was whisked inside, her feet as trapped as his.

Then one day…

“It doesn’t work properly anyway. Throw it out.”

The world spun. He fell.

Blackness.

He wakes to find her beside him. His feet are free.

Hand in hand, they leave the ruined chalet. In the wide outside, rain slicks the pavement. He opens his umbrella. She opens her picnic basket.

Beneath the umbrella, the sun shines. She feeds him strawberries.

Heavy-breasted, taut skin pulls across her swollen chest.

Her nipples ache.

A nurse reassures with singsong voice, bringing warm towels to soothe the tension.

“It’s day three and the milk is coming in. You’ll soon be more comfortable, don’t worry.”

Unnoticed, the birch leaves flutter silvery-white through the open hospital window.

Marie turns her sweaty head to one side, leaning into the sterile pillow.

A grey cloud is drifting through her mind; it stifles expected joy.

Heaving herself upright, she stares into the empty crib and is reminded of Grandma’s favourite lullaby.

Then, barely audible, she begins to hum the tune.

Day in, day out, stone in hand, Kristy waited by the water. She struggled to hold it at first, but over time it got easier. When her grandfather arrived, she knew her chance had come. He would know she was there, even though he wouldn’t see her.

She watched him take in the quiet evening. When she was sure he was gazing at just the right spot, she closed her eyes and tossed the rock, remembering what he had taught her. “It’s all in the wrist. Like handing out a ticket.” She pictured the solitary stone skip across the water.

“Kristy?”

Imagine, the things they’ve seen:

Dragged from their sleep into bright, white light. Packed tightly together like cattle into trucks—jostling and colliding in confusion and woe. Bruised and dumped from the trucks onto concrete, they’re separated from their families by those who see only inanimate objects. Dispatched north, south, east, and west to their disparate fates, many will freeze under icy skies or wither from the heat. Before being delivered to their final fate, many are whipped, skinned, and even boiled. From Ireland to Idaho they are treated like a blight to society.

Why would God curse potatoes with eyes?