"Questions"
Surface Evolution #2
Another weird little 500-worder for ya here, folks—the second one from 2007.
Cheers!
Æ
QUESTIONS
Ted sounds like an old man’s name to Ted. Ted hates his old man’s name. Even when he’s an old man, he’ll hate his name. He just knows it.
Ted sits at his kitchen table with his sister. They share a house because neither of them makes much money. When she speaks, her words come out jagged, sort of pointy. She asks him questions. Always questions. She knows his memory is not very good, knows his mind sometimes disconnects and drifts for awhile. She knows a lot of things about Ted.
Ted’s sister’s name is Kara. Ted’s sister name was Kara. Before she died. Except that she’s not dead. She’s sitting across the kitchen table from him, asking him questions.
But Ted is pretty sure that this is not his sister.
Ted reaches a hand out to the woman, cups her cheek gently. The woman leans into it, exhales slightly through thin, parted lips. She smiles a wonderful, silly little smile. The kind of smile he always wished his sister had.
Ted knows his mind is not functioning properly.
He does not know the name of the company at which he works. He drives there everyday in a car he finds every morning in what he assumes is his driveway, in front of what he assumes is his and his sister’s house. But now that she’s dead, Ted assumes the house is his and his alone. He thinks maybe his dead sister has come back to keep him company because the house is simply too big for one person.
Everyday is not like this. Sometimes thin pockets of truth dribble down to him from a hole in the roof of his mind. He imagines himself with his head back, eyes closed, tongue out, waiting for these drips of reality to drop down onto him.
But Ted imagines all sorts of things.
Ted looks across the table at his dead sister, cups her cheek, feels her cool skin against his palm. The muscles in his arm ache from holding the same position for so long. Kara’s eyes are closed, but her mouth moves. Words come out, but there’s no sound. Death has silenced her, but Ted thinks there’s more to death than just silence.
Ted says, “I don’t know where my children are, Kara. I don’t know. I’ve lost them.” Ted was married for many years, had children, then got divorced. He has not seen his wife since. He has no idea where she went. Sometimes, he goes to the post office, buys a postcard, writes his feelings for her on it, and mails it to a random address picked out of the phone book.
Kara leans into his hand harder. She opens her eyes and asks him a question. Then another, then another, then another.
He pulls his hand away from her face, gets up from the table to make tea.
Leaves the questions to pile up on his chair.