Swagazine Five

Gravy, by Liz Kane

I decided to take a bath.
Therapeutic, I thought as I drew the water.

One foot in, and another, lay down, and listen to the music.
Industrial machine throbbing. Off-key piano.

Incense burning, three drinks in me.

I thought of him, and sipped my drink.

I like him. Yeah...

The water has an ebb to it, it matches my heart beat,
and I marvel at the fact my internal organ is making this wave
in my tub. Waves towards my feet and back towards my head.
A sleepy rhythm.

I look to my left at the rim of the tub and a red centipede is working it's way out from one of the holes in the caulking to another red rust stained hole in the caulking in the rim of the tub. I marvel at it's feet and think about killing it. It's rear antenna waving insultingly at me as it's back-end enters and exits another rust stained hole in the caulking.

Bugs, I thought, and sipped my wine.
The world went sideways and...
I thought more about him.

We'll have 3 children, and have a farm. Two boys and a girl.
We'll have chickens, and horses, and a few cows,
and raise the kids up right.

I'm spreading my toes on the spigot, and thinking of a possible good life.

I'm wearing a dress with a spring pattern, and the children are running about, playing with the farm animals, and I call to them, and say, "Come on in, dinner is served." They run in, and he is already in asking for the gravy on his meat. I run to the stove, smiling, and bring on the gravy boat.

I see that centipede farther down the rim of the tub, back feelers waving. I splash some water on it and it scurries on to the next red stained caulking hole. Damn bugs. Gotta get some raid on this caulking.

The children are smiling and waiting to be served. I bring on their portions and he asks again for the gravy, his smile strained. "You know I like my gravy on my meat." "It's in front of you, John," I say, smiling, gesturing with the gravy boat. I pour it on his meat, and the children smile and say, "Thank you, mama, for the fine meal you gave us!" They smile at me un-falteringly.

My toes are reflected in water, making my feet look as if I have ten toes in a circular pattern. "HA -- try and fit these feet, Kenneth Cole!" I laugh and sip more wine. I scan the rim of the tub for bugs, but no shows.

"The gravy's cold. I can't eat this. It needs it to be warmer. I work hard enough to not come home to cold gravy..." The children are giggling to themselves, a warm family private secret. They hold out their plates to accept the warmer gravy.

I run to the stove, and look behind me; they all have their plates up, John waving his fist with a plate in his left hand, the children laughing and waving their plates. The gravy is cold on the stove, and I turn on the burner. It's cold. How can I face them?

The red centipede is back and crawls lazily, aggressively on the tub's rim.
I squish it with my big toe. Damn parasite.

I revel in the fact my heart is still making a rhythm in the
water. I must have a good heart.
I get up and towel off.


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Background bug image by Liz Kane.
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