When I have a cold, my ears and head plug up like the suction cup of a drain or one of those tacky window decals we used to stick to the glass panes on holidays like Christmas or Easter, a thin, plastic replication of our atheistic tendencies that clearly says, “We belong in a party super store, not a church!” which, after all, is a fairly accurate observation—we do have an enhanced praise for 50 cent streamers and large, flashy Birthday banners—but still, even we know that there will always be those days when shit hits the fan, when you find her laying on the floor unconscious, when the power outage comes at the most inconvenient time, when you just can't seem to get the answer you wanted, when you want to slam doors, when you want to rip open pillow cases, feathers imploding into the room like a recently vindicated band of falsely accused prisoners—and whose mistake was it to confine, and nearly kill, the innocent anyway?—and as such, you end up on your knees, fidgeting, praying, asking for things from someone you have little connection to other than the stupid plastic decals on your front windows—the ones depicting a jolly old man and a wide-eyed pink, furry bunny, the ones for whom getting peeled down and shoved in the disposal is the only memorable tradition to be recalled at New Years.
1.
Aidan and Amber met in a doughnut shop. She was looking for a few cents change; so was he. That and to satisfy his sweet tooth.
2.
Now they fight about wallpaper patterns. Coffee grinds. The volume grid on the television set they bought last August. She tells him he’s being oversensitive. He says his tears never used to bother her.
3.
Now Amber lives in the desert by Old Yukan Springs in New Mexico. It’s like someone once told her: without agua, you learn quién es—who you are. Every New Year’s, Aidan sends a box of cinnamon cruellers and a tear-stained note. Amber wonders how much saline she can fit in a teaspoon.
Alyssa Martino is a writer among other things. She is based in Washington, D.C. and has written for a variety of alternative newsweeklies, travel magazines, and progressive blogs. She seeks to write the ordinary as extraordinary and vice versa. The Pen and Paper Chronicles is where she remixes her writing and thoughts on culture, travel, change, and human rights. Her website is here.