She told him about the cousin while he was going down. It relaxed them both, to hear mistakes and feel them. Every dinner they hadn’t eaten. The months before her son called, wanting a change. Always they were flipping positions. He sat on the floor, close enough to listen, the remote in his hand.
We were Tuesday and Thursday. Monday and Wednesday pursed, crossed and uncrossed. It felt like an emergency. She flipped, put stacks back in order. Desk lady buzzed. Monday opened his phone that was his hand. Not now, he said, smiling. Wednesday looked at my wife. She didn’t kill it.
Parker Tettleton’s work is featured in or forthcoming from Mud Luscious, DOGZPLOT, > kill author and elimae, among others. His chapbook Same Opposite was recently published by Thunderclap Press. He blogs at parker-augustlight.blogspot.com