by Kathy Fish
The girl pretends she's already in New York. The thought gives her a shimmery, golden feeling behind her collarbone. Lately, everything and everyone injures her. She's become lugubrious and she's only twenty-two. She has gained the approval of the landlady who takes note of her freshly pressed uniform. It is the way I am, too, says the landlady. As if that's reason enough. The landlady, at least, will be sorry to see her go.
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The customers are demanding. One man writes Poor Service, Very Disappointing on the back of his receipt and the manager pins it up on the bulletin board in the kitchen. The manager's a slow, peevish man with a patch of white hair on the back of his head. I am tired, she signs, for she's mute, but not deaf mute. She will work at The Filling Station for six months, saving until she has enough for a plane ticket and one month's deposit.
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The boyfriend handles rattlesnakes. It's his religion to handle rattlesnakes. Or maybe there's more to it than that. This girl doesn't believe in God, but she likes the baleful gaze of the snakes, their smooth skin. The boyfriend doesn't want her to move. He thinks she bamboozled him into loving her.
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The rattlesnakes are brought to the church in a sort of carrier. The church is located in a strip mall and is only a church by reason of being a gathering place of the faithful and not by reason of being a structure like a church at all. In fact, it used to be a realtor's office. One of the church men tells the girl he likes the cut of her jib. It sounds kind of dirty. The cut of her jib.
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The landlady hauls up an old typewriter and looms over this girl's shoulder as she works on her resume. Instead of Cedar Falls, her place of birth, the girl types Cheddar Falls, but she doesn't notice. What she does notice is the way the floor rises, then falls under her feet when she gets up to make tea, as if she were walking on an under-inflated balloon.
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She starts falling down — at work, on the street, in the shower — and wonders, what now?
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It's as if there are little men inside her head, wielding hammers. The people from the church say they can deliver her from her affliction. They all but guarantee it. And she lets them mess around one night. They make her lie still on a fold up buffet table. It alarms her to realize that she once ate ham and beans at this table. They dance around and chant with the snakes on their shoulders. She closes her eyes and waits, but her skull bulges with pressure. She raises her hand and the people halt in contorted positions like freeze tag.
+
No problemo, I appreciate the effort, she gestures, knowing not everyone understands sign language. In fact, hardly anyone does. She'll go to New York anyway, on a gurney if she has to. And she tells the boyfriend he will live to love and fuck somebody else. He watches her hands. She says, give it three months.
15
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Originally published in Necessary Fiction. Many thanks to Steve Himmer.
Aah, the "cut of her jib" does sound naughty, particularly great how the "." and then "cut of her jib" reinforces that. Just one of many great decisions in this story you made.
Yes, I remember this one quite well. Made me VERY excited to have a piece forthcoming in NF. Steve remains the "best" editor I've dealt with...in terms of taking a particular story and making it SO much better. Well, him and Kevin O'Cuinn at Word Riot are neck and neck.
Thanks so much, David. And I agree with you about Steve Himmer. The fifth section here didn't exist until he asked for something more before the one sentence section and I think it really improved the piece.
That 5th section was a good addition, Kathy. I agree. It does open up that all important one-sentence part. Yes.
The overall form adds so much to the imagery here - allows it do its job.
I like the real crunch of certain / uncertainty in this - such as "The boyfriend handles rattlesnakes. It's his religion to handle rattlesnakes. Or maybe there's more to it than that. This girl doesn't believe in God, but she likes the baleful gaze of the snakes, their smooth skin."
and
"They dance around and chant with the snakes on their shoulders. She closes her eyes and waits, but her skull bulges with pressure. She raises her hand and the people halt in contorted positions like freeze tag." Effective.
Good, good piece.
thanks, Sam, I always appreciate your feedback!
Wow this is sad. Wow she is in a terrible place and with worse to come. "Give it three months," is so loaded. As in the best stories, I want to intercede on her behalf, get her to a neurosurgeon.
Kathy, lots of story here in such a small place. Fav.
This is a lesson in building a character out of her interactions with others. Beautifully done, Kathy.
Thanks so much James and Jack and Susan!
What James said. So much desolation in this small story. peace *
Love the way this meanders in such an engaging way. Love these folks, and all their trying.
Really appreciate the reads and comments, Linda and Terry! Thanks.
"She starts falling down--at work, on the street, in the shower--and wonders, what now?"
Love this, Kathy. You have a great sense of line.
Thanks, Timothy!
Succinct and affecting. The "sign language" line struck me as humorous yet sad. Loved the imagery of the snake healers, as well as little details such as the line about the "Poor Service" remark the manager showcased in the kitchen. Nicely done.
~m
By the end I see her signing the last line I have such a strong sense of her physical presence in this. Her body and gestures. (and I love the landlady "It is the way I am, too")
Jane thanks so much, means a lot coming from you.
This is great. Trouble. Hope. Dreams. You make her invincible.
Thanks so much, Beate!
Wow, this is awesome. Love the little bits and pieces that form such a great story. Fave!
Amazing, Kathy. Stories about faith always get me, but this one's very special! *
This was an intriguing story that leaves me feeling tense, because I want to see her get better, shine. Rattler religion always freaks me out. I love that you made her mute and limited to sign language, it adds to this feeling of being unheard, trapped, isolated within her own skin. Good job.
I remember this story from NF - so glad to see it here so that I can rave about it, the mystery and music of it. *****
What I love most about this piece is that every sentence here is perfect. Just perfect. *