He drove to pay off a few bills, most of them important ones. I kept a
wire basket in the junk room for financial matters and that was how
they had been forgotten.
While he was away, I used instructions from a magazine to bake a
heart-shaped meatloaf. The magazine was corny. I'd stolen it from the
doctor's office accidentally, obsessed with the pictures of well-made
I folded the ingredients, breadcrumbs and spices, into the meat and
kneaded the cold mixture. I hated for raw meat to get under my nails,
so I kept my fingertips out of it. Then I dropped the mixture onto a
casserole dish and formed the shape.
It had to bake for a while. I was grossed out by the meat. So I took a
shower, shaved, and dried my hair with a hair dryer not just a towel.
He was home, in the other room, playing his re-run of the World Series
when our team won. He cheered still.
None of my clothes fit me right. This had been going on for over a
year. Everything I bought was cheap and shrunk or I ate crap and grew
out of things. I pulled a box down from the closet. It was the
alligator skin purse and heels my grandmother had given to me, remnants
of when she was my age.
He found me in the heels, my panties, and a top I'd settled on. "What's
for dinner?" he asked.
"Nothing special," I answered.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked.
Jennifer Pieroni is Editor in Chief
of the literary journal Quick
Fiction. She has work in Hobart, Bateau, Another Chicago Magazine, FRiGG, Sir! and
others. An essay will appear in Rose Metal Press' Field Guide to Writing
To link to this story directly: http://wigleaf.com/200903nothing.htm
Read other JP stories from the archive.
Photo detail on main page courtesy
w i g · l e a F