Breadcrumb #74

DANIELLE VILLANO

In the hospital we are only allowed to see you after we’ve disrobed and we’ve scrubbed ourselves with disinfectant. The disinfectant smells like lemons, which is an interesting touch considering the last crop of lemons fell­ — rotting — off their trees five years ago. A year or two before now and that realization would’ve stung like citrus in a fresh cut, but now there’s only a slow burn behind my eyes that lessens when I blink.

     So on go the plastic undergarments. They are sexless, nude colored, and they squeak modestly as we change with our backs to each other. Then the zippered plastic suits. The gloves that, in another time, would be associated with washing dishes. Now they are what we use to reach out and touch those of us who weren’t so lucky.

     You weren’t so lucky, darling.

     In through the airlock chamber, we are propelled forward by an orderly who hums under his breath. The sound is echoing and strange through the mask he wears over his mouth. We are propelled forward by routine and a sense of duty. Fridays have been — without fail — visiting days for the last five years. Your daughter is 15 years old now, you know. We got in a fight on the car ride here, because she wanted to go to the movies with her friends. I think she might love a boy. Does she ever tell you anything about that, when she whispers at you through the glass partition? I always stand a little bit off, so she can feel like she can share secrets with you, if she wants to. But truth is? I’d be devastated if she did.

     I find it easier to talk to you here, in my head, rather than when I’m sitting next to you. But here we are; we’re rounding the corner and coming up to the glass. I shut my eyes as I walk because I know how many steps I’ll have to take before my gloved hands meet the glass (35), and I know exactly what I’ll see when I get there (you, underneath the blankets, which are pulled up to your chin).

     And then I have to look, because I know you expect it. You’re looking at us now. You blink your naked eyelids. We are now used to seeing you without your eyelashes.

     Those of us infected by the blight woke up the next day to stiff faces, and dry eyes, and eyelashes that felt brittle like spiders’ legs. I remember you asked if I had any eye drops. “I want to loosen things up,” you’d said. I told you I’d put them on the shopping list. The list stayed stuck to the fridge for months; I never bought the eye drops.

     Back to the eyelashes: There was a universal quivering, a spasm that touched those who had been unknowingly infected, and all at once the lashes of those people broke off onto the floor. It was a normal afternoon, before that happened. People were eating in the food court at the mall and riding bicycles on the sidewalks. Suddenly there were spiders’ legs sticking up out of the chicken chow mein. Pedestrians were spattered with eyelashes from the bikers who pedaled by. They were sweeping little black bristles off the streets for a whole day afterwards.

     I brought you to the emergency room to get checked out, but the line was already out the door. I had to leave to pick up our daughter from school; the school had called for an early dismissal. Confusion buzzed through the air. When I was walking our daughter to the car I saw a woman cover her mouth, saw her fingers shake and drop something, clinking like ice cubes, to the pavement. When she howled, her open mouth was a gaping black hole, and I knew the things clink-clinking on the pavement were her teeth.

     I also knew — the thought made my stomach churn — that by the time we got back to the hospital your teeth would be gone from your mouth. I was hoping you’d have the sense to sweep them up, so as not to scare your daughter. But they were still in a pile in front of you, and you had covered your face with your hands.

     I can’t describe what it feels like when you find your husband seated in the same waiting room chair and he opens his mouth to ask “Why?” All I can say is you suddenly know what he will look like if he lives to be very, very old, and the idea is not a comfort.

     What I can say now is this: You do not look very, very old. In fact, you look incredibly young. You are constantly molting, shedding your skin. Your daughter says around school they call those who were infected “snakes.” Your face is pink and plump, no longer weathered by the elements. Your eyes are clear. The nurses have to administer eye drops often since your lashes are no longer around to protect your eyes. Your fingernails grow quickly and fall off; they are painful pink pads for a day or two, and then the nails grow back even stronger.   

Your face is pink and plump, no longer weathered by the elements. Your eyes are clear.

     Recently on a talk show a comedian said that she wished she’d been infected by the blight.

     “Sure, it’s been hell on the economy, and our agriculture, and our ability to reproduce as a human race, but have you seen what it’s done to their skin?”

     I reach my gloved hand through the slot in the glass near your bedside, and you grasp at it with eager fingers. It is a pink pad day, and you wince a little bit, showing your gums. You smile at me with your eyes. It’s easier that way.

     I talk at you for a little bit about the softer stories on the local news, and about the movies that are coming out in theaters. Despite all the damage our society has taken, our desire for action movies has only intensified. We want larger-than-life heroes. We want sweat. We want machismo. I try not to think about how I used to compare the cleft in your chin to that movie star’s. Your skin is so soft now; the cleft is nearly gone, anyway.

     I try not to think about how we used to cocoon ourselves in our bed on weekend mornings, clutching coffee mugs and each other, shuffling around the Sunday paper. I try not to think about how your lashes used to brush my cheek in an Eskimo kiss that made me giggle like a schoolgirl. I try not to think about the way my hands cupped your face before I’d kiss you on the mouth, or how I’d smile into your teeth. I wonder if we were placed in a dark room — would I know who you were by the feel of your face? Would my fingertips recognize your skin?

     I move aside, worn out, to let your daughter speak to you. She is all dramatic sighs and jerky movements, making me relieved that some things — like teenagers — don’t change, even in the face of a worldwide disaster.

• • •

Breadcrumb #73

BARB ROSINSKI BENINCASA

She was right where she wanted to be...

holding Daddy's hand as they paid for the comic book she'd read as she waited for him to finish
his work at the train station;

yelling "Watch me one more time, Mom" as she jumped into the cool Adirondack lake, twirling in the "spinny" dress, feeling the ever-elusive beauty of her body, for a moment in time;

looking into the eyes of her newborns, marveling at her ridiculous luck at birthing such perfection;

reading endless bedtime stories, stepping on lost Legos, and chasing superheroes holding action figures;

drinking hurricanes, shopping at the French market and eating beignets with the BFF who had shared her life since they were 10-year-olds;

hearing the words "The key to S's heart, as he proffered the plastic key that opened his world of autism — a world he shared with precious few.

She was right where she had to be... 

counting the five doctors sewing the gash on her 5-year old face, covered with a bandage that would become her kindergarten "show and tell" and, once removed, reveal a permanent scar;

working at the amusement park, the old soul who never fit in with the other, more carefree teenagers, to save money for the college degree that would be the ticket to changing lives;

testifying in the courtroom, awaiting the judge's decision, in a battle she never anticipated, with too much acrimony;

driving endless country roads, through abominable weather to get home to her boys, never wanting to miss a moment;

pacing hospital corridors, awaiting the results of the endless tests and surgeries her mother endured with a smile;

holding the hand of that same mother, as her palpable energy drained from the body that could no longer contain it;

lying on the surgery table, looking at the doctor who restored her hearing, crying with joy at the sounds to come.

She was right where she was at that moment...

saying "I do," one son escorting her down the aisle, to the other as officiant;

relishing the look on her husband's face when he walked through the door;

feeling the water of that Adirondack lake soothe her now-middle-aged body, but feeling like that little girl begging her mom to watch;

bursting with pride at her sons' creative accomplishments, realizing that her love of words and music were reflected in their souls.

She will be where life will take her...

reading anything and everything;

fighting the rumination that plagues her still;

listening to the sounds, the achingly beautiful sounds of her life;

wondering if she will still make a difference in this world;

cherishing every friendship, nurturing each with love and care;

missing the ones who shaped her, long gone from this world, but alive in her heart;

traveling with her husband, rejoicing in the new experiences;

getting lost, but knowing she will always end up where she is supposed to be;

singing with her out-of-tune, but extremely enthusiastic voice,

now that she is retired, but not done.

• • •

Breadcrumb #72

KATIE NAUM

Hi I am Samantha! I am 17 years old, I live in USA. I love to chat and making new friends. pls Follow me I will Follow you Back and inbox u I promise

hi I’m Olivia 16 Year Old From New York USA. Like, Follow & Msg me I will reply you. I’m interested to make new friends

I am JESSICA from sunny CALIFORNIA i love to go to beach and make new friends. if u follow me i follow u back and inbox u i promise...

hello again… pls follow me…

I am Samantha. I am Olivia. I am Jessica. I Am Dominique. I am angel. i AM Jennifer. I Am Krista. iam Jasmine. I am DESIREE

i am all of Them and I am ONe. I reveal 2 u my names & u will come 2 kno their power

Pls inbox me & i will reply Right Away 2 u. I HEART make new friends.

Hi bae!~ Follow me Right Away pls!!!.  It’s important lol. Im SO interested to make new friends right away  ;)

yaaasss. Tx 4 the follow!!!!!!! >:-D

Where u from? I live in USA, in New York, in LA, in Chicago, in ur town, right behind u, gone when u blink, wow so weird, u must have imagined it, haha jk

& how old r u? Wow ur grown, lol.

I am 17, I am 16, I am 15… tbh I’m just rly young, lolololol. Too Young !

i Stay Young 4 u. 4ever.

U will find I am always w/u now that you have added Me to ur friends ;) even when u think ur alone…

Friends 5ever!!! LOLOLOLOLOL

OK. Lets take this party to the NEXT LEVEL.

Check out My SELFIES! U can find them on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat, everywhere

U can find them in ur house;)

Go ahead, open ur old family photo album, n stare in Surprise to see that all ur old family pics have been replaced w/my selfies lol

U don’t need them n e more now that u know Me :-D

Y U UNFRIEND ME??????? :( :( :( :( :(

Add Me Back Now Or You Will Regret It.

I Warned You. If u stop reading this msg ur gonna die. My Name is Ashley, Nevaeh, Maddie, Mary. If you don't post this on 20 photos i will sleep with you forever. This one girl ignored it and 29 days later her mom died. I am real, u can search me up on google

ok then! smdh…

Hi its Me again ;) Check ur voicemail lol

Its from ur sister!

She says ur mom’s cancer came back. It looks rly bad lolololol

Of course I know wat it says. didnt I warn u wat would happen????????!!!

Check out my pics pls. U can see them in the mirror. U can see them when u sleep. U can see them when u close ur eyes.

U will see them Every Time u close ur eyes.

Like My pics pls :)

I am Chloe, I am Crystal, I am Morgan, I am Megan, I am Destiny. We are friends 5ever.

ur mom is still much 2 young 2 die, isn’t she? Wouldn’t u do anything 4 her?

Its so easy, just Click the button and Follow Me

YAAAASSSSSSSSSSSS ;-D tx 4 the follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

• • •

Breadcrumb #71

DANIEL GRJONKO

When did I say that?

...rings through my head which is purple
and twisted into the filthy blue couch
that we have evolved into owning. 

I used to be owned by the moon...
she would wring me sick and force me to drink,
but that’s changed.

I still drink,
but that moon sits on a chain around your neck,
ever-sliding in gravity with its shadow.

And as we want to laugh as we terribly scream,
I see that gravity shifting.

Between us — 
the moon and its brother who have embraced as lovers —
something shifts.

Two strangers, or space rocks,
or dust, locked in gravity —
which is something we give a name to
so we feel like we understand it — 
start to speak in truths.

But logic offends the other.
It must.
And so I hear myself screaming

When did I say that?

• • •

Breadcrumb #70

JD DEHART

short and angry
perhaps not the best
modifiers but appropriate
 
        hairy would also
        fit (chagrin)
 
I imagine what kind of leader
I would be — who would follow
a short and angry and hairy
person like me
 
sometimes my recorded voice
sounds clear and decent
and sometimes there’s too much
        something — accent?
 
would I be a Narcissus pool
of kindness and wisdom, drawing
others to me
then drowning them without
meaning to?
 
would I keep the plates
of drama spinning
and constantly send out
the guard to gather half-
truths
and probably believe
the wrong damn half
of everything they bring me?
 
perhaps I would simply
sit and enjoy the feeling
of a plush throne until
some nice guy came along
and tried to take my head off
 
it’s meditations like these
that make me happy to be
middle level and unassuming
but that’s also probably
what irritates my flush
red temper

• • •