by Stan Rogal
The two are naked in bed. On the side table a wadded Kleenex hides a used condom. Jenny has the sheet pulled over her breasts while Warren lies totally exposed, his penis damp and limp between his legs. He has an arm wrapped around her shoulders and runs his fingertips up and down her neck. She’s in a half-turn and pulls gently at the hairs on his chest.
“How many kids ya want?” he asks.
“Don’t know, haven’t given it much thought. Two, anyway.”
“Yeah. I’m thinkin’ at least four. Maybe six.”
“Six?” She laughs. “What’ll we do with ‘em all?”
“Take care of ‘em. Raise ‘em. Make ‘em better people.”
“Better?”
“Better, yeah.”
“Is there somethin’ wrong with us?”
“Not us. Other people. That’s why we need to have kids. To balance things off.”
“Oh.”
“Sooner the better.” He pokes at the Kleenex. “Every time I wear one of these I feel like I’m killin’ somethin’.”
“Some people never get pregnant.”
“That’s generally because they’ve been waitin’ for the perfect moment and by the time they figure they’re ready, their bodies have forgot how. Or one person has an accident. Or dies. It’s too late. That’s what I mean. There’s no guarantees. If you’re gonna do somethin’, do it while you can; while you’re young, don’t sit around thinkin’ about it or plannin’ for sometime in the future, ‘cause there might not be a future.”
“Are you sayin’ this ‘cause of what happened to your brother?”
“I don’t wanna talk about my brother. He’s got nothin’ to do with this.”
“It was an accident.”
“Sure, it was. Did I say it wasn’t?”
“No. I just wanna be clear there’s nothin’ …”
“It was an accident. OK? I mean, I wish it hadn’t happened, but it did. It was years ago. I still remember it, I can’t forget it, it still hurts sometimes, but I’ve learned to deal with it. At least, I hope I have. Is that clear enough?”
Jenny nods.
“Fine. Let’s drop it and move on, OK?”
“OK. So long as you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. OK?” He kisses her on the forehead.
“And you’re happy? With me?”
“Totally. Couldn’t be happier.”
“OK.”
“OK. Hey!” He jumps out of bed. “I’ve got somethin’ for you.” He crosses the room, opens a drawer in the dresser. “You know the thing they say about weddings: somethin’ old, somethin’ new, somethin’ borrowed, somethin’ blue?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Whattaya got so far?”
“So far? I don’t know. I never thought about it.”
“Well, you should. I mean it, it’s important. Rituals and such.”
“Isn’t it just, like, superstition?”
“Maybe. But why take chances? Doesn’t cost anythin’ and, who knows? Maybe it makes a difference.”
“Maybe.”
“So, you’ve got an old dress, yeah? You got it from a used clothing place in town. Somethin’ new is the ring. Somethin’ borrowed is my boss’s car to drive from the wedding to the honeymoon suite at the Radisson in Regina. We’re three quarters there. All we need is somethin’ blue …” He withdraws something from the drawer, hides his hands behind his back, slides over the floor to the bed and dangles two blue ribbons in front of her face. “Ta-da!”
“What are those?”
“Somethin’ blue. You can use them to tie your hair up.”
“You know I don’t like to tie my hair up. It makes me feel … claustrophobic.”
“It’s only for a few hours. And it’s important. For the ritual. You don’t want the wedding to be cursed, do you?”
She stares at the ribbons; pokes at them with her fingers. “Can’t I wrap them around my wrists instead?”
“No. I want you to wear them in your hair. Doesn’t have to be tight. It would please me. The blue snakin’ through the blonde. Beautiful, yeah?”
“Snaking? Nice word. Poetic.”
“Umm. Besides, just think how sexy it’ll be when we get to the hotel and I untie the ribbons and your hair falls over your bare shoulders.”
He drags the ribbons slowly up and down her head and across her neck. He pulls the sheet from her chest and tickles her nipples. She lies back and moans softly. He slips the sheet further down to reveal her belly and pubic area. He kisses her breasts and teases the ribbons between her thighs.
“I can use them later to tie your wrists and ankles to the bed.”
“You’re bad,” she says, moaning.
“I am bad. Very bad.”
“OK,” she whispers. “OK.”
She can feel his growing erection against her thigh.
“I love you,” she says.
“Love you too, baby.”
She grabs his ass and digs in her nails.
The house is a small, detached wood and yellow vinyl siding bungalow loomed over by two, two and a half storey semi-detached brick units. There’s just enough room on either side to push a medium sized wheelbarrow, maybe. Postage stamp-sized front lawn. A paving stone path, three concrete steps and a small wood landing lead to the door.
“Looks tiny,” she says.
“It’s what the agent calls a starter upper. We live here a few years, get established, build up some equity, buy somethin’ bigger, y’know? Besides, it’s got everythin’ we need: two bedrooms, cozy living room, combination kitchen/dining room, bathroom with one of those stacked washer/dryer units, half-finished basement, back yard with a bit of lawn and a shed. Updated plumbing and electric. New roof. Easy to care for. I can walk to work so don’t need a car. Grocery store within spittin’ distance. It’s got character, yeah?” Warren waits for an answer that doesn’t come. “I think it’s got character. Anyway, it’s all we can afford right now.” Still no reply. “You’re not mad or anythin’ are you?”
“I’m not mad, no. I guess I just wish I had been more a part of … you know … findin’ a place for us.”
“You’re the one who said you wanted to spend time with your folks.”
“I know.”
“We talked about this. I said come with me, remember? You made the decision to stay. I went along with it ‘cause I thought it’d make you happy.”
“Yes, and it was sweet of you.”
“Uh-huh. And shoppin’ around for a house ain’t exactly my idea of a good time. Or dealin’ with asshole bankers who look at me like I’ve got two heads when I say I want a mortgage. As it is we were lucky to get this, price of real estate and all. The agent said.”
“I believe you.”
“I did the best I could. I really did. I’m sorry. I thought you’d like it. Shit.”
“You know what? It’s fine. It really is. You’re right. It is all we need right now. It just didn’t fit the picture I had in my head, that’s all. I simply have to re-adjust. I mean, I didn’t have much more back on the farm, did I? And the house does have character. It looks like a small frosted cake sitting there.”
“Yeah? You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. Let’s go in and take a closer look.”
“That’s my girl.” They load up with suitcases and bags. “And remember, we both picked out the furniture from the catalogue, so …”
“I’m sure it looks great.”
“Yeah, it does. I mean, I had to re-jig some stuff ‘cause things didn’t quite fit the way we thought, a bit tight and so on. The bed, y’know, is kinda crammed in one corner …” His face and hands work to try and show what he means but Jenny just shoots him a confused look. “Anyway, you’ll see. And we can always change the colours of the walls and whatnot if you don’t like it. Hell, I can get paint at the store at a discount, right? And wallpaper.”
“Stop already, I’m sold,” Jenny says, laughing. “C’mon. Gimme the tour.”
End of September, warm day, clear sky, a man in faded coveralls stands in the yard and tosses a final handful of feed to the chickens. He drops the plastic bucket, walks across the dirt, leans his arms on top of a fence rail. He pulls an apple from a trouser pocket, bounces it in his palm, rolls it in his fingers, makes a clicking sound with his tongue. The horse trots over, takes the apple from the man’s hand. He pats the horse’s neck and nose. His wife joins him. They stand there quietly as the horse chews and flicks its tail at flies.
“You figure we should keep him or what?”
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense, I guess.”
“Probably not, what with Jenny having the twins and such. That’ll occupy her time, I think, pretty much. Tough for her to get back and visit.”
“She’s taken on a load, all right.”
“Sounds like things are fine, though, otherwise. Between the two of them, I mean. And the babies. Everyone healthy and happy.”
“That what she said?”
“Not in so many words. It’s what I gathered. You know what it’s like over the phone, never enough time.”
“Uh-huh. Well, that’s good. I’m glad.”
The woman sniffs and sighs. “Horse’ll just cost us money. And serve as a reminder.”
“Yeah, enough of those around already without payin’ to feed a horse no one’ll ever ride again.”
“Should be easy enough to find him a good home. A family with kids.”
“No doubt.”
“Still a few of those around.”
“Yeah.” He gives the horse a gentle push. “Go on,” he says. “I got nothin’ more for ya.”
“In the meantime, maybe we could plan to make a trip to Toronto ourselves, yeah? See our grandchildren before they grow. They don’t stay babies long. It’d be nice. I’m sure Jenny would love it.”
“Yeah, we should do that. Figure out the best time and all.”
“Sure. Doesn’t need to be right away. Even Jenny said. They’re still in the middle of renovations, as well, so space is tight. You know. We’ll talk about it.”
“Yeah, we will.”
“Good.”
The woman chews the inside of her lip and wipes a tear from the corner of an eye. The man maybe sees her or doesn’t. He breaks from the fence and ambles slowly toward the barn.
Warren winds between furniture and through the general clutter of the living room floor: toys, magazines, dishes, cutlery, plastic food wrappers, grocery store flyers with discount coupons cut out and scattered over sofa cushions and end tables, baby clothing and so on.
“Jenny,” he calls. “Jenny?”
The kitchen is a disaster area, comparable to the living room, maybe worse. The sink is full of dirty dishes that stretch over the entire counter. Scraps of toast, crackers and other foodstuffs litter the floor. Empty soup tins, empty jam jars, empty plastic and Styrofoam containers overflow the blue bin. A garbage can is heaped with disposable diapers. There are baby wipes and tissues. Mops, brooms and dust pans lean uselessly against cupboard doors. The floor is stained and covered in dirt, grime and other miscellaneous filth. Jenny hunches over the table gripping a coffee mug in one hand. Her back heaves sporadically.
“What’s up, babe? Everythin’ OK?”
Jenny slowly raises her head and tilts her face toward him. Her eyes are red, her cheeks stained with tears, her nose chafed and runny, her breathing short, choppy and interrupted by gasps, hiccups and the need to swallow.
“I’m sorry, Warren,” she says. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m not good at it. I’m no good as a mother. I don’t know how.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re doin’ fine. You’re doin’ as well as anyone. Remember what the doctor said: babies don’t come with an instruction manual, you have to work through it on your own. Trial by fire.”
“I’m not workin’ through it, Warren. If anythin’, I’m gettin’ worse. Look around. The place is a total mess. I can’t keep up. I’m a lousy housekeeper. I’m a bad wife. I can’t stop cryin’. Everytime I think I’m goin’ to get somethin’ done, one of the twins howls, then the other. They don’t stop. I play with them. I rock them. I walk them. I feed them. I change them. Then it starts up again. Nothin’ else gets done. Time just disappears.”
“You’re takin’ care of the babies, that’s the main thing. The most important. The rest of it doesn’t matter. Place is a mess, so what? That’s the way it is when you have kids. They take priority. I’d say you’re doin’ a terrific job.”
“You sure?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
“The mess doesn’t bother you?”
“No! Why should it? It’s temporary, yeah? Anyway, what’s the big deal? Like I say, the main thing is the babies. They’re the ones that need you most right now.”
“You’re sweet to say that.” She sniffs and wipes her nose with the back of a hand.
“I’m not just sayin’ it. It’s true.” He leans in, kisses her on the forehead, stands back and regards her closely. “You get your hair cut?”
Jenny squints, as if thinking; as if trying to remember. She lifts one hand and pats at her head. Her hair is coarse and uneven, like it’s been chopped with garden shears.
“Oh yeah. It was getting’ in the way. I couldn’t stand it, so …” She forms her hand into a pair of scissors and makes cutting motions with her fingers.
“Uh-huh. Makes sense. Could use a little, you know, here and there.” He uses his hands as scissors. “Maybe a comb. Otherwise …”
“I was sorta desperate. Didn’t use a mirror, just chop, chop, chop.”
“No, you did fine. It’s just hair, right? Grows back. So, we’re good here? You feel better?”
“Yeah. Better. Oh … I saw a mouse today. Here, in the kitchen. I think it was a mouse. There. In front of the fridge. Then it ducked under.”
“What —one mouse? That’s it? OK, look, I got a couple days off comin’ up, we’ll set aside a few hours, clean the place up. How’s that sound?”
“Might need more than a few hours. Plus a backhoe.” She grins and hiccups.
“Then we’ll get a backhoe.” He grins back at her. “Meantime, I brought home dinner. Chinese.” He holds up a plastic bag. “Hungry?”
“No. Tired. I’m tired. The babies are finally asleep. Who knows for how long? I think I need to crash awhile. If I can get a few hours sleep, y’know?”
“Sure. Do that. You can eat later. No problem. I’ll just hang here. Maybe go downstairs and work on my little project for a while. You haven’t gone down there, have you? And looked?”
“No, of course not. You asked me not to. Though, I am curious.”
“Good. Make sure you don’t. I want it to be a surprise.”
“I know. You’re sweet. Thank you, Warren. Really. I love you. You know that. I do.”
“I know that. And I love you too. Go to bed. You’ll feel better.”
Jenny pushes up from the table and drags herself out of the kitchen. Warren follows her with his eyes and waits to hear her climb the stairs. He steps to the fridge, swings the door, grabs a beer and twists off the cap. He carefully sets the cap between his thumb and pointing finger, aims and flicks the cap across the room. It spins and bounces off a far wall. He smiles and gives a nod of approval. He tips the beer to his lips and drinks. He sits at the table, tears into the knotted plastic bag, crushes it, peels the lid from a container of chicken Chow Mein, uses his teeth to tear open a pouch of Soy sauce, squeezes the brown liquid onto the food, rips the paper wrapper from a pair of bamboo chopsticks.
He piles the waste neatly beside him: wadded plastic bag, plastic lid, plastic pouch, paper wrapper, gives it a hard look and very purposefully, very deliberately, uses his forearm to calmly sweep the mess off the table onto the floor.
He laughs to himself, takes another swig of beer and digs into dinner.
Late morning. The two of them sit at the kitchen table drinking coffee. The aluminum pot stands between them and they take turns top
ping up their mugs. The golden lab sniffs and snorts at their feet. The couple discuss the usual things: weather, finances, various shopping lists for when they go into town. They add cream and sugar to their mugs.
“You were restless again last night.”
“Yeah.”
“You got up. You were awhile. Where’d you go?”
“For a walk. Outside.”
“Pretty cold for that. And dark.”
“Not so bad. Full moon.”
“Every year around this time. Same thing.”
“I know.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I can forget. Or wish it never happened. Or wish I could change it.”
“It was a long time ago. You can’t go back.”
“I know that too. Still, I keep going over the details. In my mind. I keep thinking if a single thing had been different, either happened or didn’t, a few minutes or even a few seconds either way.”
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”
“Was a night like tonight. We heard a noise from outside. I grabbed my rifle.”
“We thought it was a fox after the chickens.”
“I went outside to look around. There was nothing. Chickens settled down. I waited. I came back in. Next morning I noticed the lid closed on that busted ice box. I pried it open, and inside …”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Warren’s brother, Nathan. Dead. Suffocated. What the hell happened?”
“You know what happened.”
“Yeah. They heard the door, they saw the porch light go on. Nathan twisted the chicken’s neck, sent Warren home with it while he hid so he could steal another hen when I was gone. He got himself locked inside the ice box all night and that was that.”
“That was that. What could you do? What could anyone do?”
“That’s where I’m stuck. That’s when I think, a few seconds either way, they’ve got two hens and they’re gone. Or no hens and they’re gone. Or I catch them, give them a piece of my mind, warn ‘em next time I’ll call the police. Or I hear the slam of the ice box lid. Or I notice it’s shut while I’m there looking around and I find him. Or maybe we got a dog like Boone here at the time and he sniffs ‘em out.”