August 6, 2024

To the Woman Across the Street Who Doesn’t Seem as Happy as She Once Was

By L Mari Harris
Photo by Lucas Pezeta on Pexels.com

Watch the minutes tick by until the front door closes. Turn the morning news off. Go back to bed, the sheets still warm, the old black dog settling and sighing on the rug. Tell yourself it’s just for an hour. Two. Five. Lie with the blue devils. Watch the red birds at the feeder through the window, the old black dog now kicking in her sleep. Tell yourself this stillness you hide is what keeps you going—the floors shine, the dishes are put away. Later, the roast will be resting on the stovetop, the potatoes browning in the oven. Look at all you accomplished. The red birds have long flown off. Practice smiling in the mirror. Run a comb through your hair, rub a little toothpaste along your gums. The table is set when the front door opens again. Answer of course when asked if you had a good day. Dance around the questions, steer the conversation to the old black dog’s arthritic joints. Turn the evening news on. Feel watched, like a shoplifter. To the woman across the street who doesn’t seem as happy as she once was, I bet the worst part is the longing, because someone loves you back and it’s still not enough.

About the Author

L Mari Harris’s stories have been chosen for the Wigleaf Top 50 and Best Microfiction. She lives in the Ozarks and is currently at work on a linked flash fiction collection about the region. Follow her @LMariHarris and read more of her work at lmariharris.wordpress.com.

 

Related Flash
person holding brown film

Pandemic Feature: Casting Call

By Peter Kline

“We’re going to need a younger child. These teenagers are obviously compromised by moneysex and existential dread.”
dark clouds in the sky

Shawl with Bees and Sage

By Claudia Monpere

“She wants to want again: the smell of rain on warm asphalt, the feel of granite threaded with glittering mica. She wants to know about ripples not cracks.”

Vintage photo of children lining up to receive bottles of milk during the great depression

Bess Recalls the Great Depression

By Kathryn Silver-Hajo

She paints WPA-inspired scenes of fishermen and farm hands, the frame shop on Flatbush a ruckus of wood and wire, tools and nails.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This