Name Not Taken

by Madeleine Henry

Painting my birds, I ruined some khakis beyond redemption. One hem ripped clean off. Another was stiff and maroon even after rounds in the wash. So I ordered replacements. I open the box and lift two pairs of heavy black cords. Not khakis? I check the name on the packing slip and then, the order below it. According to this, I hold khakis in my hands. What do you see? Richard’s old prompt comes back like a challenge. I run my fingers warily over the cords and feel the ridges push back. I know what I see. I call customer service. After I explain the problem and email Sandra photos of the pants, she asks me to stay on the line. At that moment, Hunter walks fresh faced into the kitchen in her clothes from last night. I smile and point to the bag in front of me, shaped around the curling bulge of her croissant. I point next to the Keurig, then the cabinet filled with mugs. Hunter seems to understand my signing and gives me a thumbs-up in return. “Thanks for holding,” Sandra says. “We’d be happy to send you a return slip. You’ll get a full refund as soon as we receive your return.” “No, I don’t want to return them. I’d like a refund.” “Happy to help, ma’am. We’ll just need the items back first.” “Sorry, I don’t want to create a problem here, but I didn’t buy these. So how can I return them?” Over by the Keurig, Hunter appears to be listening. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Sandra tells me she doesn’t. The pants below me are arranged in a looping dark nest. “Again, I don’t ...

WHAT?! I am so lost. Khakis/cords. Who cares? What does this show?!?!?!