by Rachel Pinkstone
Prologue
The door, unusually open, gushed a flood of welcoming light
no more inviting than the torrent of expectation behind it. Nine months
since this threshold was passed last. Nine months of promises made
into a solid ball of guilt, hard against my stomach. The doorbell
had the same old chime, that tune we all know, but can’t recollect.
Her eyes (wrinkled by irritation and our hesitance to walk right in) met
each our matching set of baby blues. That look said so many things:
surprise, relief, anger, maybe joy.
Chapter One
How’syourmother?Whendidyouchangeyourhair?Didweknowyouwerecomingthistime?Whendidyouloseallthatweight?Haveyougottenarealjobyet?Isthereamaninyourlife?Didweknowyouwerecomingthistime?Whenwillyoubringusgrandkids?Whyhaven’tyoucalled?WillweseeyouatThanksgiving?HowaboutChristmas?Didweknowyouwerecomingthistime?Don’twealwaysseeyouatChristmas?Didyouthinkwe’dforgetyourbirthday?Didweknowyouwerecomingthistime?
Chapters Two through Twelve
The clink and tap of utensils, fork against plate, metal vs. porcelain,
was deafening. Aunt ---‘s new crown, third molar in back, twice now replaced,
made audible effort to bite. Uncle --- gargled his mashed potatoes,
coughed after a swallow. We watched him for struggle; returned to our meal.
Grandpa maneuvered his food; turkey slid into place, biscuit rumbled off the plate,
green beans squelched under the force. I only stirred my drink, repeatedly,
the ice played like bells. A forty-minute orchestration instrumented,
entirely, by of our digestion.
Chapter Thirteen
Promisemeyou’llvisitmore,Wewon’tbearoundforever,sometimesIforgetmymedication,Muslimsmovedinacrossthestreet,Promisemeyou’llvisitmore,Ihavetopinchtherosebushbeforethefirstfrost,Rememberwhenweboughtyouthatbike?Promisemeyou’llvisitmore,Didyouseemetakethecolaseorthexanax?Rememberthatweloveyou,Promisemeyou’llvisitmore.
Epilogue
The door closed, unusually, behind us.
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