Mud

by Moshe Dann (August 2013)

her web in a dingy corner of the ceiling, I'd be even more miserable; at least I have my freedom and no one to tell me what to do. At least it had seemed that way, the prospect of a solitary life ingrained, now clearer, as if she had only to recognize and embrace that awareness, and listen to that bitter unsacred oracle.

She looked around her small shabby apartment, a broken kitchen cabinet door severed from its rusted hinges propped on its side against the wall, dishes piled in the leaking sink. Socks, her dog, was curled up on the tattered sofa, two black paws tucked under his white furry neck. The bare walls were dotted with prints and photographs, an old museum poster of Degas ballerinas covered a large hole, her bedroom cluttered with books and newspapers. In the bathroom, the grimiest reminder of her life, towels smelled of overuse, worn porcelain gloomed, as if struck by a disease.

“Love” sewn on it. Was I really in love with him? she closed her eyes. Was he in love with me? She wondered what had become of him, traveling around the world, trying to fill himself with as many new experiences as he could. He lived like the music he played on the piano, not with much technique, but a passion that stormed inside and carried him far away.  

closer.  I love Socks. He's all I have. Isn't that enough? He raised one ear and looked at her.

the kitchen shelves, splattering like wet leaves across the floor. Autumn, she hardly remembered, except as a sign of approaching winter, the smell of rain in the air. She was fifteen, running barefoot through the empty park near her home just before a storm. It was almost winter and she wanted to feel the damp grass between her toes, clouds of breath caught in the air, a rattle of thunder, her cry as she'd slipped and fallen in the mud. 

She looked into their eyes wondering what they meant. By the time she went away to college, she stopped measuring the distances between them. Visits became less frequent. Wendy remembered her last visit home, sitting at the kitchen table.

the time?” her father added.   

at them with clenched fists, unable to speak.

looked at her as if she had just announced that the world was coming to an end, or that she was pregnant.

thought, “to come back home and be drowned. I won't give you the chance again. Love? Bullshit! Talk about misery and pain! Talk about how you abandoned me, how you wiped out my feelings, destroyed my hopes. Talk about REAL love! Talk about anything REAL!”

a big thing about everything?” Mountains. Molehills. What difference does it make anymore? It’s all the same. Stretch fits all sizes. Don't get fat!  Who cares?

” she wanted to shout at them. “You can't hear me,” she said quietly looking down at her hands and then into their eyes. Her head began to throb, a hook in her throat. You scratched out my eyes! But I had other eyes, eyes that were inside, eyes that you couldn't touch. 

door. The sound of the key turning, like a judge's gavel. “Listen, please listen,” she begged. “I'm sorry” she banged the door with her fists until she could no longer feel the pain.

we'll let you come out.”

there was no answer. She lay on her back banging the door with her feet in a steady rhythm; soldiers walking into battle, she thought, the path she'd take to run away from home.

Perhaps they were standing on the other side, so close, so far away. She wanted to hear a rustle of clothing, their feet shifting, breathing not her own.

under her bed she chanted, “I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm sorry…” as shadows and light play tag in the dust of her shame.

Socks nestled into her. He hardly moved as she put her hands around his neck and squeezed as tightly as she could. He struggled for a moment, a violent spasm, full of trust, and then stopped, leaving a wet stain of saliva on the couch.

forgive me!” She picked him up and shook him. “No. Please!” He squirmed, responding to her pleas and began to breathe again. She took his head in her hands and kissed him. “Oh, thank you, thank you.” He licked her fingers and then walked unsteadily to a corner.   

killed my dog.”

almost destroyed something that I love because I was angry; not against him, against me, and you, and the whole world.”

breath. She listened for a response, but there were only scratchy sounds of electrical interference.

of that. I'm so alone and I'm afraid to tell you… Mama?”

me too?” She waited, the sound of her heart crumbling in her ears.

you could help me clean up a bit…”

from a hook near the door. “Let's go,” she slapped her leg and walked outside. For a moment she stood in the chilly breeze, as Socks rushed headlong into the garden. He looked back, tilted his head as if curious, or grateful, found the right place to piss and then ran off. Even this makes the world possible, she thought and waited for him to return. Perhaps I'll buy myself something special. Today I'll be graceful.

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