Wrong Place Wrong Time

by Gillian McAllister

The maternal habit of a lifetime, feeling guilty no matter which she chose.

The past disappears into the horizon like fog,

But sacrifice is a different notion for men and women. Worth what, exactly? Kelly did not have his body change, his nipples crack right across the center like smashed dishes. Jen now agrees it is worth it all, but she sometimes wonders if that is because some of the things she lost have been given back to her. Sleep. Time.

This banter of theirs . . . perhaps it does more than it purports to. Perhaps it evades the deeper issues, somehow. Jen thinks sometimes that Kelly is so busy laughing that he never does anything else. Like show how he feels. What’s the bedrock, underneath the banter? Their family has always been so full of charm, exactly what she wanted after her repressed upbringing. But isn’t humor a different kind of repression?

Jen guesses that, somewhere or other, an alternative version of her was baking last night. Funny how those things felt so important then. Go and see the Christmas lights, bake and assemble the gingerbread house. And – poof. They disappear into history, causing only stress and leaving no imprint, like a footstep on sand that gets washed away too swiftly. Her entire life, she’s been so concerned with how things seem to be. Keeping up appearances. Having it all, the house with the carved pumpkin so everybody knew they’d done it. And yet. What was it all for?