Because Condoms Seem So Desperate, She Also Buys a Fern
His wife and son are both giggling in their sleep. Hers is a lovely
laugh, the one she uses when something is absurd, like when she came
out of Longs with that plant.
The boy's is a gleeful giggle. Perhaps he's dreaming about when the dog
chases him after he's stolen her ragged bone.
He tries to think of something humorous so as to join in their laughter
but all he can think of is bills.
He turns on the tiny book light, clips it to a hat and walks to the
kitchen where the watercolors and paper are still out. He dips in a
brush and adds to his son's splashes green s's for dollar signs, red
hearts for lips.
From the bed, the two laugh. The cooling night drifts through the
window along with frog sounds.
He mixes yellow with brown and paints long legs, just like the one
exposed beside the sheet in the bedroom, the one that got him here in
the first place.
Stefanie Freele's stories have appeared or are forthcoming in Glimmer
Train, American Literary Review, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Hobart
She is the 2008 Writer in Residence for SmokeLong
Quarterly and has a MFA from the Northwest Institute of Literary Arts:
Whidbey Writers Workshop.
To link to this story directly: http://wigleaf.com/200812fern.htm
Photo detail on main page courtesy
of Aaron Michel.
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