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A couple of days later I receive a postcard from Janice. The image on the front was taken from a photograph, she is standing beside Marlin, one hand is held behind her back and the other tucked around Marlin’s arm. Their children are in front. All of them are wearing matching t-shirts with popular Disney characters. Janice is the only one not looking at the camera. Her face is towards it, but her eyes are looking away, preoccupied with something else.
She will tell him soon, I think. It won’t be much longer. I stare at the image of all of them and then turn the picture around. On the back, in cursive, the caption reads, “Here we are at the happiest place on Earth.” I have to laugh a little at that. I hang the postcard on the fridge in my kitchen. The floor is wet again, and the socks on my feet sponge up the water as I move around. I will have to call the super again if it doesn’t stop soon.
Stud is sitting by the kitchen table so I pick him up and take him into the living room. The two of us sit on the sofa. I turn on the television. It is too early for the news. There’s a marathon on of a popular 80’s sitcom and for a moment I think to watch that, but looking at it, I already know the ending. I know what happens before the conflict even starts. I change the channel until I get to an infomercial. It’s an old one, for a Ginsu knife set. The screen flashes to the image if a hand rapidly chopping cucumbers and carrots for a salad.
I put my head on Mr. Stud’s shoulder as I watch. The man on the television keeps talking. I listen as the host goes on about the knives. “You’re just going to love these,” the host says, smiling into the screen. He dices green peppers and then tomatoes. The camera cuts to the audience, who are all attentive and in awe of his agility. When the host finishes they applaud. His talking fills up the room, and sitting here, listening, I know that this is not everything. My muscles relax as I slide down into the seat. I let it pull me away. I relent to the heaviness of my body. Here, listening to voices of the familiar, I am comforted. I know that I am not alone.
When the show is over, I turn off the television and move closer to Stud, leaning my head onto his shoulder. The static in my hair makes it cling to his body. Before I close my eyes I take one last glance at the television as if expecting something there, but there isn’t. There is only the darkened reflection of two bodies slumped together, waiting for what comes next.

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Posted on February 9th, 2009 in Fiction

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Mr. Stud

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(?)Shop / Featured Product

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More Fiction

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Sharing is good for the soul

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Mr. Stud

952 Written by Unknown

Comments by 952 People

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