Cackle

by Rachel Harrison

“You have dark energy,” she says. “Sorry,” I say, because what else?

There are two windows, and between them is a tall reedy plant I apologize to in advance. I’ve got a poor track record with plants. It’s not neglect; if anything, it’s overattentiveness. I obsessively water, readjust, ask how they’re feeling, if they need anything. Maybe more sunlight? I exhaust them to death.

Whenever I’m let down by reality, I’m simultaneously shocked and embarrassed by my lack of ability to anticipate the completely predictable outcome.

Nothing on the menu calls to me. I think my appetite has been permanently destroyed by this interaction.

Dan raises an eyebrow. Jill laughs a nervous, high-pitched giggle. Pascal pulls a classic Pascal move and does absolutely nothing.

I embrace the next morning with all the enthusiasm of a goat entering Jurassic Park.