The dryer drones in the background, a constant white noise and thump-thump of towels, a knock from a zipper against the drum. The laundry never ceases. I constantly find articles behind and under and tucked into things as if they are easter eggs hidden just for me. I do not like this hunt.
There’s beauty in the mundane, I remind myself every time I beat an egg for scrambles. There’s pride in cleanliness—something religious, I heard—so wiping counters and tables and bookshelves becomes a lemon-scented, spray-on prayer. Spritz, wipe, breathe, sigh.
When I hear the whine and grind of the school bus, I know there are exactly four minutes, forty-two seconds, and one shot of vodka before impact. A backpack tossed in the corner, the crack of a cola can, the unreasonably loud crinkle of a bag of Doritos and the crunching that follows. Then, inevitably, what’s for dinner? Can we have pizza? I want mashed potatoes macaroni and cheese, maybe empanadas. No, hamburgers with fries. Steak. Bone-in gristle burnt and charred, no, bloody and rare like the pulsing of a still-beating heart.
Jacqueline Parker’s work has been featured in Prime Number Magazine, Flash Fiction Online, After Dinner Conversation, and elsewhere. She is the recipient of the Prime Number Short Fiction Award (’21) and Women on Writing’s Flash Fiction Award (’23). She is currently working on a collection of short fiction exploring the feminine wild. www.jacqueline-parker.com
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