mother works on carburators
The Aero
“You missed the wedding.” Her hands settle nicely into the curves of her hips and she glares at you. The dress she wears is white, but muddy and wet from walking through the rain after you.
Adjust the hat on your head. It’s black, to match your soul. Take a moment to ponder how the “sticks and stones” expression has failed you. Answer, “I’ll be there for your wake,” as ominously as you can. Smirk, and pull the fedora’s brim down over your eyes so you look particularly menacing.
Marlene is not impressed. She clenches her fingers into fists and yells, “You promised you’d be there! You’re supposed to LOVE ME, remember?”
The wind picks up and swirls her dress hem around her thighs violently. Narrow your eyes. Don’t fake your emotion this time, let your real anger show through. “I’m supposed to LOVE watching you marry some other man?” Lower your voice, growl through your teeth, “I’ll rip him apart.”
Her voice breaks and you realize that maybe she’s not mad like you are. As tears fill her eyes, she chokes out, “You just don’t get it, do you?” and then disappears so fast you think the wind blew her away.
- - -
Wake up the next morning with the taste of blood in your mouth. You don’t remember why, except a few blurry memories of the wind whipping you around and something darkly red and sticky on your hands.
It’s stuffy in your apartment. (How can you listen to me if I’m not allowed in?) Open the window.
Decide you’re too hung over to go to work. Hold your head in your hands as the white light streaming in pierces your skull at the temple. Take an aspirin.
Drink a glass of water and shuffle through the broken vase and ripped paper on the floor. On your way out, grab your hat and put it on your head.
Outside, the world smells fresh after yesterday’s rain. Think for a moment about how that must have ruined Marlene’s outdoor wedding. Slam your fist into the wall and resolve not to think about it.
Buy a newspaper from the old woman on the corner. Put your extra change in the beggar’s cup and try to be a kinder person today. There’s a pedestrian walking panicked in the opposite direction. As he passes, whisper, “You’re going to die someday,” in his ear. You’re some kind of terminal kindness, really.
The breeze is forceful today, pushing you in the right direction. You almost lose your hat on several occasions. You’ve arrived.
Walk through the revolving doors and shrug off your jacket. Hand it to the coatcheck who looks as if she has better things to do with her time. Ask the man at reception for Mr. and Mrs. Slaughter. He looks you up and down reproachfully, but tells you the room number (314) just the same.
Keep your cool until you get into the elevator. Once the doors slide shut and you’re alone, have your fit. Yell and punch the walls and rip off your hat because it’s keeping you grounded.
When you get off on the 26th floor, the knuckles on your right hand are bleeding a little and your hair is a total windblown mess. Stop caring.
Jog down to room 314 and knock on the door. Marlene answers. You woke her up because her hair’s a mess too and her eyes are droopy and slightly unfocused. Over her shoulder, you can see her new husband lying underneath a slowly revolving ceiling fan with stains of red on his white shirt. Don’t wait for Marlene to say anything, just push her against the wall, kiss her, and tell her what she wants to hear.