proceed.
“Please don’t get that for me.” I feel very foolish. “If you like Coke, get Coke. I like Coke fine.”
She stops. “Do you?” she says. “Do you like Coke fine?”
“Yes.”
“But which do you like better?”
“Please get whatever you want,” I say. “This is silly.”
Jane puts the Seven-Up back on the wrong shelf. “Do you like birch beer?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Fine, then.” Jane reaches for some birch beer. “We’ll get that.”
We continue through the store like this, disagreeing about yogurt, deodorant, bread, juice, and ice cream. The checkout girl rings up my dog food first. Then she does Jane’s groceries. I help her carry them out to her car. It is the only other one in the parking lot. I can see Dog, with her front paws poised on the dashboard, watching me. “Good night,” I say to Jane. I’m glad this is over.
“Wait,” says Jane. “I promised to tell your fortune. Give me your palm.”
I hold out my hand and Jane takes it. Her hand is warm and wet. “Move.” She pushes me back toward my car, under the light. She opens my palm and holds it flat. She wipes it off with her scarf. The light makes it look very white. For a long time she says nothing. I can hear Dog whine in the car.
When Jane speaks, she addresses my palm and not me. “I see blue lights. I see swimmers. I see rhododendrons. You will live a long time.” She pauses. “You will always feel like this.” She slowly rolls my fingers toward my palm, making a fist. She looks up at me.
“Like what?” I ask.
Jane lets go of my hand, and makes a vague gesture with her own, indicating the A&P, the parking lot, my car with Dog in it. “Like this,” she repeats, softly. “You will always feel like this.”
Joyce is there, standing above me. “Perhaps you should take some sick time,” she says. “You can’t keep falling asleep at work.”
I feel very tired. I just want to go back to sleep. I don’t know what to say.
“Do you have any comp time coming?” says Joyce. “Perhaps you should take it now.”
“I’m tired,” I say. Joyce is a little out of focus, on account of I just woke up.
“I know you’re tired,” says Joyce. She seems to be talking very loudly. Joyce sent us flowers. She is nice. “You look very tired. That’s why I think you should take some time off. Don’t you think that would be a good idea? Do you understand?”
“I guess so,” I say.
“Well, think about it,” says Joyce. “Think about it, and let me know. Things can’t go on like this.”
“I know,” I say.
“Good,” says Joyce. Then she leaves.
When I get home that night things are fine. Miranda suggests we go out to dinner, and we do. It is very nice. We drink a lot of wine and eat and eat and then we drive home. We watch the news on TV. It is terrible news; even the local news is terrible. Miranda yawns and goes into the bathroom. I can hear her in there: the water flowing, the toilet flushing. It all sounds so lovely, so safe. I can hear Miranda setting the alarm in the bedroom, and the radio playing softly.
“Are you coming?” she calls down the hall. “Come to bed.”
I get in bed with Miranda and pretend to go to sleep. It is windy and cold outside, and the trees rattle against the windows. It is hard to stay awake. My head is spinning with all the wine I drank, and I am so tired. But I stay awake until Miranda falls asleep. I get up and go down to Dog.
When I open the closet, Dog is not there. The closet is empty. I call Dog softly, thinking she has got out somehow. I call and call, in little whispers, but she doesn’t come.
I stand in the hall for a long while thinking I must have fallen asleep. Maybe I am dreaming. I do not understand what is happening, and I begin to cry a little. I go back upstairs and into the bathroom and close the door. When I stop crying I come out and stand in the bedroom. Moonlight falls through the window and onto the bed; onto the part where I am
“Please don’t get that for me.” I feel very foolish. “If you like Coke, get Coke. I like Coke fine.”
She stops. “Do you?” she says. “Do you like Coke fine?”
“Yes.”
“But which do you like better?”
“Please get whatever you want,” I say. “This is silly.”
Jane puts the Seven-Up back on the wrong shelf. “Do you like birch beer?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Fine, then.” Jane reaches for some birch beer. “We’ll get that.”
We continue through the store like this, disagreeing about yogurt, deodorant, bread, juice, and ice cream. The checkout girl rings up my dog food first. Then she does Jane’s groceries. I help her carry them out to her car. It is the only other one in the parking lot. I can see Dog, with her front paws poised on the dashboard, watching me. “Good night,” I say to Jane. I’m glad this is over.
“Wait,” says Jane. “I promised to tell your fortune. Give me your palm.”
I hold out my hand and Jane takes it. Her hand is warm and wet. “Move.” She pushes me back toward my car, under the light. She opens my palm and holds it flat. She wipes it off with her scarf. The light makes it look very white. For a long time she says nothing. I can hear Dog whine in the car.
When Jane speaks, she addresses my palm and not me. “I see blue lights. I see swimmers. I see rhododendrons. You will live a long time.” She pauses. “You will always feel like this.” She slowly rolls my fingers toward my palm, making a fist. She looks up at me.
“Like what?” I ask.
Jane lets go of my hand, and makes a vague gesture with her own, indicating the A&P, the parking lot, my car with Dog in it. “Like this,” she repeats, softly. “You will always feel like this.”
Joyce is there, standing above me. “Perhaps you should take some sick time,” she says. “You can’t keep falling asleep at work.”
I feel very tired. I just want to go back to sleep. I don’t know what to say.
“Do you have any comp time coming?” says Joyce. “Perhaps you should take it now.”
“I’m tired,” I say. Joyce is a little out of focus, on account of I just woke up.
“I know you’re tired,” says Joyce. She seems to be talking very loudly. Joyce sent us flowers. She is nice. “You look very tired. That’s why I think you should take some time off. Don’t you think that would be a good idea? Do you understand?”
“I guess so,” I say.
“Well, think about it,” says Joyce. “Think about it, and let me know. Things can’t go on like this.”
“I know,” I say.
“Good,” says Joyce. Then she leaves.
When I get home that night things are fine. Miranda suggests we go out to dinner, and we do. It is very nice. We drink a lot of wine and eat and eat and then we drive home. We watch the news on TV. It is terrible news; even the local news is terrible. Miranda yawns and goes into the bathroom. I can hear her in there: the water flowing, the toilet flushing. It all sounds so lovely, so safe. I can hear Miranda setting the alarm in the bedroom, and the radio playing softly.
“Are you coming?” she calls down the hall. “Come to bed.”
I get in bed with Miranda and pretend to go to sleep. It is windy and cold outside, and the trees rattle against the windows. It is hard to stay awake. My head is spinning with all the wine I drank, and I am so tired. But I stay awake until Miranda falls asleep. I get up and go down to Dog.
When I open the closet, Dog is not there. The closet is empty. I call Dog softly, thinking she has got out somehow. I call and call, in little whispers, but she doesn’t come.
I stand in the hall for a long while thinking I must have fallen asleep. Maybe I am dreaming. I do not understand what is happening, and I begin to cry a little. I go back upstairs and into the bathroom and close the door. When I stop crying I come out and stand in the bedroom. Moonlight falls through the window and onto the bed; onto the part where I am
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