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
shallow focus photo of bald eagle

On the Anniversary of Steven’s Death

By Bethany Jarmul

“My neighbor Dan says I need therapy because today, when a bald eagle landed on my porch railing, dropping a feather on my freshly painted deck, I threw a dart at it. But what does he know?”
bird on city street

Three Rings and a Window to Heaven

By Jacob Griffin Hall

“Three and a half months ago, we opened the door and sidestepped the bird. The poor thing had died right at the front step. It was terribly sad, I thought, to die. Even worse with a landlord who’d leave you to the insects.”

green insect

Parasite

By L. Acadia

“I watch a soul leave the fresh insect corpse in an unfurling black twitch, stiff like coarse hair slowly twisted from both ends. It is constrained until it flaps free of the mantis, shiny segments recoiling. Gathering. Seeking.”

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This