Meat

A Short Work of Fiction

Richard Diebenkorn, 1951 Untitled (Albuquerque)

Barry sat across from Roy; both young men had their arms folded high and tight against their chests. Barry’s legs were crossed, one dangling over the other—long, thin, and limp. His dangling member looked incredibly frail, as if it might detach and fall to the ground with a strong gust of wind. He watched Roy with a grimace, a look that never seemed to leave his face. And Roy chuckled.

“Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny. I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” Barry said, his voice becoming increasingly high-pitched and rushed.

“I’m sorry, Barry, but I have to. Melissa and I are taking our relationship to the next level. I can’t stay here forever. Besides, I’ve found you a replacement.”

The next level, Barry thought. He shuttered and struggled to push the thought from his mind. He tried to calm himself and ran his tongue over his teeth, making a loud smacking sound. He enjoyed the feeling of his teeth, wet and smooth in his mouth. He felt an urge to touch them, to prod them with his finger, to remind himself of their perfection. Barry sighed loudly, and Roy smiled. His teeth were perfect, too.

“You seem to be enjoying this, Roy.” Barry rubbed at his neck, pushing hard on the bruised flesh, remembering.

“I’m not, really. I think this will do you some good—do us some good.”

Roy got up and handed Barry his key. Barry refused to take it; he stared at Roy’s feet. He noticed tiny bits of dried mud stuck to one of Roy’s shoes, and he cringed. Even though Roy was a bit unkempt at times, Barry had gotten used to him. He had learned all of Roy’s habits and routines and had adjusted to them. They seemed to fit together perfectly like newly set and polished molars, growing next to one another, shaping and being shaped by its neighbor.

“I’ll just leave this here then,” Roy said, placing the tiny silver key on the table next to Barry. “Your new roommate will be here tomorrow morning. Give this a shot, will you?” Barry snorted, and Roy left the apartment.

After giving the apartment a meticulous cleaning—Barry first started with the living room floor where Roy’s dirty shoes had been, but then he noticed some dust on the coffee table, cobwebs on the floor boards behind the couch and chairs, a build-up of dirt and crumbs in the back corner of the kitchen cabinet, and a tiny bit of toothpaste spatter on his bathroom window—Barry still felt increasingly nervous about the approaching morning and the impending new arrangement in lodging.

He didn’t give me enough time, Barry protested as he paced back and forth on the clean living room floor in fresh, unsoiled socks. He ran his tongue back and forth over his teeth again and again, smacking as he paced. It wasn’t working. He grabbed his keys and left his clean apartment.

Walking along the street, he rubbed his chin hard. His fingers were so close to his lips, so close that they almost slipped into his mouth, and he wanted them to. He wanted so badly to touch inside his mouth without reserve, to feel his silky smooth teeth sliding back and forth beneath his thick, plump finger. He remembered watching Roy in his bathroom in the mornings as he meticulously brushed and flossed his teeth. Barry’s heart was beating fast now as he walked block after block, and he couldn’t pull his hands away from his chin.

If I could do it just for a second, I would feel better. Maybe no one would notice, he tried to reason. No, not here. Not in public. Wait until you’re alone, in private. Don’t be weak, he argued with himself. He shoved his hands inside his pockets and walked on. Barry looked around at the people passing him, a bit embarrassed that he almost gave in. This is what he’s done to me, Barry thought, and he rushed on down the street.

As he approached an outdoor café, he saw a woman sitting alone, eating a club sandwich. It was thick and full, like her arms and her plump hands. The sandwich was overstuffed with meat and dripping with mayonnaise. A large glob of mayo mixed with red, fluid tomato juices dribbled onto her protruding bosom as she tore into the sandwich rabidly. Barry imagined the meat tearing as her head snapped back, food spilling out of her overstuffed mouth as she chewed. Barry hurried past, wishing he hadn’t witnessed her chewing the meat. He almost vomited.

“Twice in one week, Barry?” the dental assistant said when he entered the office. Barry nodded, and he touched the top button of his plaid shirt. Still buttoned. Good.

He relaxed immediately when he sat in the dental chair. He slid his buttocks back and forth over the tan plastic, stretched his arms out over the arm-rests, and closed his eyes. Relief. The dental tools whizzed and whirred and scraped, and he imagined himself smiling with the silver tools and suctions poking out of his mouth. Ah, life support.

The next morning came too quickly. He waited in his apartment for the replacement roommate and fiddled with his shirt. He pushed at the bruise on his neck, and could tell that it was fading away. He pushed it harder. Barry couldn’t tear his hands away from his neck, his chin, his lips. He paced and paced, back-and-forth, in his tiny, spotless apartment. His mouth opened slightly, and he ran his finger over his lips. I’m alone now. He took the opportunity to give in. Oh, and it felt so good. His finger popped into his mouth, his lips tight around it. He rubbed his silky, smooth teeth gently at first then with precious force. He let his tongue tickle the backs of his teeth as he caressed them from the front. And Barry lost himself, there, in his clean little apartment.

A knock at the door. Barry froze for a moment, then pulled the sticky, wet finger from his mouth and wiped it on his previously tidy khaki pants. He ran his fingers over each button on his shirt, just to make sure. He missed the top button, so he fastened it quickly. There.

A tall woman stood in the doorway. She had one hand on her hip and the other dangling at her side. She leaned a little in her stance as she looked at Barry with a pseudo-confident grin.

“Bad time? You look flushed.”

“No.” He ushered her inside and shoved his hands in his pockets. They stood in the living room and stared at one another. Barry eyed her over and over and raised his upper lip involuntarily. She was neither large nor small, and she was curvy all over. Her hair was wavy, but intentionally wavy—not unkempt—and it matched the spotty red patches appearing on her skin. She spoke first.

“Adrianne.” She held out her hand. Barry touched just the tips of her fingers while sputtering out his name and gave her a feeble handshake. “Charmed,” she said.

She looked him over and smiled. Decent. I’d have him.

“I have very strict rules about your keeping and your company.” Barry kept his hands near his neck and top button as he spoke.

“Fine. It’s not very big.” She moved around the room with catlike acuity, circling Barry slowly. He swallowed hard. “But it’ll do,” she finished.

Barry remained concealed in his room the rest of the day. He listened at the door for any sound she would make and tried to deduce her actions. It was nearly dinnertime, and his stomach growled. Strange smells wafted into his room from the crack between the door and the floor. He bent down to the floor and sniffed feverishly, trying to make out the medley of scents. He grew hungry and thought of the woman in the café. He felt like touching his mouth again.

Twice in one day. He smiled.

“Barry, come out. I’ve cooked us dinner.”

Barry stopped fingering his teeth and wiped his sticky, wet finger on his khakis once again. He felt hungry, unsatisfied. The day had proved nerve-wracking, and he simply wanted to be alone with himself, left to his thoughts, his memories. His heart fluttered as he walked through the hall into the living room.

Adrianne was standing in the room, whipping her hair off her shoulders and exposing her puffy, reddening chest. She was barefooted on the dustless floor and wore a black dress that clung to her skin and Barry could see every ripple and dimple. He could scarcely control his pacing heart and felt weak. He clicked his tongue over his teeth. His stomach growled.

The room was dimly lit, and Adrianne had two TV trays placed next to one another near the couch. She had set down two plates piled with home-fried chicken thighs and lumpy mashed potatoes. The crinkly chicken skin glistened as the grease ran down the sides.

“Sit.” She patted the seat next to her, and Barry obeyed, staring straight ahead of him. She bit into a chicken thigh and clear, slimy grease ran down her cheek. She held her head back and chewed. The sound of her chewing was loud and fast and untidy, and Barry felt nauseous. She finished her meal, piling the moist bones on the side of her plate.

“You’re not eating.”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“Oh.”

She pushed their trays away and grabbed at Barry. His stomach growled! He almost wanted it. She kissed him, and he tasted the fried chicken. Her mouth was strange to him, slightly warmer than his own and incredibly wet.

She pushed his head down her body and lifted her dress. Barry grabbed at her thighs causing little dimples on her leg beneath his plump, red fingers. He licked his teeth loudly, clicking his tongue hard against them. He thought of the woman in the café and of Roy and of Adrianne moments ago as she ate. He had held back for so long, and he was hungry.

He opened his mouth wide. He ran his tongue fast over his teeth and bared them against her thick, red thighs, bruising her, he thought. He imagined his hard teeth plunging into the meat, and he snapped his head back.

“Oh!” he wailed, and she cried out with him.

Miss Emma Raises Beans

A Short Work of Fiction

Jules Bastien-Lepage, At Harvest Time

Well, I’ve got a good thing goin’, but I’m about to mess things up real good.  Out in the fields, the rows of beans seem to go on forever.  But they’re just babies now.  They’ll be growin’ right up real soon.  And then they’ll be coverin’ up everythin’. I won’t even know myself by then.  I’ll lose myself in them bean fields.  They’ll swallow me up, just a-grabbin’ at me.  But I’ll keep doin’ it, keep tendin’ to them beans.  Because I know that’s what I’m s’posed to do.

But I’m about to mess things up.  Mess ‘em up so bad, no one ‘ill believe it.  I’m so good with them beans.  They always grow up juss right when Miss Emma tends to them fields, they say.  Miss Emma always does what she s’posed to do; it’s like she knows just what them beans want even though they can’t say.  She’ll get ‘em up juss right.  Juss you wait an’ see.

My hands are tired as I work on in the bean field.  My fingers are curlin’ up and stickin’ that way.  They’re brown and black, stained from the dirt.  They look like the roots I pull from the ground, and I hardly know where the ground ends and my hands begin.  The sun is so hot, too, I got sweat pourin’ off me like I was cryin’.  But I ain’t cryin’.

I could just stop waterin’ ‘em and tendin’ to ‘em.  Oh yes, sho’ I could!  I could just turn right in an’ say no, that’s enough fo’ today.  Y’all just gon’ have to wait ‘til I’m good an’ ready.  Y’all just gon’ have to wait for Miss Emma.  But I push my hands into the dirt again and again.

I stick my hands in there real deep, but somethin’s hurtin’.  ’Course I’m used to it.  Got so much dirt under my nails, they startin’ to bleed.  I stand up and wipe my hands on my skirt.  It’s so dirty already it don’t even matter.  Years of dirt and blood mixed into the fibers, there ain’t no way it’s comin’ out.  My stomach turns.  Feels like my belly’s just gonna fall right out or twist into a knot so tight, it ain’t never gonna get loose.  I know there’s another one inside me, and I sho’ am hungry.  But there ain’t no break for me today.  This work’s gotta get done, I know.  But I’m about to mess things up real good.

I see Miss Lena out in her field, too.  She waves to me, and I can see her hands are just as curled and ugly as mine.  She’s real nice.  I start walkin’ over to her, steppin’ over the rows of beans, one-by-one, leavin’ them behin’.  She’s far away, but she smilin’.  So I keep walkin’.  She wipes her hands on her skirt just like me, and my stomach stops churnin’.

Sometimes Miss Lena comes to visit while the men are out, doin’ the stuff that men do.  We like to sit on the porch together and drink lemonade, the kind that ain’t very sweet and it makes your lips pucker.  That’s our favorite.  I sometimes imagine us doin’ that every night when the sun goes down and the world gets juss a lil’ bit cooler.  Juss Miss Lena an’ me.  She’s real nice.

I know if I keep walkin’, I’m gonn’ mess things up real good.  But I keep on walkin’.  The heat keeps pressin’ on me, I feel like I can hardly breathe, but at least my durn stomach stopped it’s mess.  I keep on walkin’, hopin’ we can share some lemonade together an’ cool down for a bit.  The beans can wait, I say out loud, and she smiles again.

I step over the bean rows, almost two at a time now, almost runnin’ to Miss Lena.  But I trip and fall over.  A root got my foot caught up in my step, an’ it sent me sailin’ to the ground.  I hear Miss Lena call out to me.  I want to get up and keep on over to her, but somethin’ stops me.  I hear a rustlin’ not too far from where I am, back on the ground, buried in the beans.  I see it’s a big ol’ snake, all brown and black, just a-hissin’ away.  I imagine it wrappin’ around me real tight, and I cough to try to keep on breathin’, but it’s hard with this heat and this sweat pourin’ off me like I’m cryin’.  But I ain’t cryin’.  So I get up, the snake hissin’ between me and Miss Lena, an’ I wave to her an’ start walkin’ away.

I see the man drive up back at the house, an’ I get back to my work, raisin’ his beans.  I’ll try to go over to Miss Lena’s again tomorrow.  And tomorrow, I’ll be sho’ to bring the shovel.

My Pen

My pen!  It shocks me.  It infuriates me.  It befuddles me.  It bewilders me.  I press down on paper and what comes out on this end is always a surprise.  I sit down to write a message or a story, and instead I end up discovering more about myself.  I love it!  Why can’t I do this forever?!  Why can’t anything come out on some days?  Please don’t go away, my pen, for you are my true companion.