Friday April 7, 2017
From the Quo eye palette
One foot. The other foot. One foot. The other foot. Step. Step. You can do it. You can do it. Just to the bathroom. Just to the toilet. Head heavy. Feet heavy. Eyelids heavy. One foot. The other foot. Step. You can do it. You want to be out of bed today when Sue gets home. You want to be better. You want to have dinner on the table, even if it’s something easy like a grilled cheese sandwich. One foot. The other foot. Press your palm against the wall. Deep breaths.
Thursday, July 19, 2013
He began patiently peeling of the floral wallpaper. “Honey?” His mother, her freshly-cut bob framing her face like a daisy, stood at the door. “Do you want a sandwich?” She held out a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich. She’d made it in her new panini press. She bought it for herself as a retirement present. “Sure,” he walked towards her, took the plate, and sat down in the middle of the floor. She joined him, her demin capris pinching at the waist. She pulled out her purple T-shirt, she didn’t want her newly formed muffin-top to show. Sam wouldn’t care, he wouldn’t even notice, but she didn’t think about that. “How’s it going?” She asked, looking around the room. “Slowly,” he said, biting the sandwich and closing his eyes. She made the best sandwiches. No matter how many times he made tuna salad, he couldn’t get it as good as hers. “It’s so weird being back here, Mom,” Sam continued, putting the rest of the half in his mouth and chewing loudly. She furrowed her brow. He opened his mouth, showing her all the partially chewed bread and cheese. He made the sound of a lion, roaring. s