The Growth
Jim Meirose
Waiting for change always seems to take longer than you would expect.
And brings forth strange emotions.
So Marva—when is it really going to happen? he said.
When you least expect it, she said. One day you’ll wake up, look down there, and it’ll be gone. And then you’ll have what you want—so don’t worry. Let it go.
But it should have been gone by now—
She raised her hand to silence him.
It’ll be gone soon enough. You’ve just got to let the cream work for a few days.
He rose and went to the bedroom window, and looked down. Snow covered the tops of all the cars parked up and down the road. He turned back to Marva.
But I’m sick of it, he said. I want it gone. There must be some other way.
Could have it cut off, she said. Doctor Morehead would cut it off for you—
No, he said. No cutting—
Well then—go to sleep. Come on, get back in bed—switch off the light, roll over, and who knows—it might be gone by morning.
Okay. Good night Marva.
Good night.
The light went off with a click.
They slept.
Days passed. And more days.
###
Another day dawned, and he didn’t look for it. He knew it was there. He could feel it. He applied the cream without looking at it—the feel of it was bad enough—and he got dressed, and went downstairs to Marva, who had gotten up an hour before.
Good morning, she said. I’ve been waiting for you. Want to go down to the Phoenix for breakfast? I don’t feel like cooking.
Sure, he said. Let me get my coat—
Twenty minutes later they sat in a booth at the Phoenix drinking their coffees and waiting for their bacon and eggs.
Marva, he said.
What—no. You’re not going to talk about that thing again are you.
Well, to tell you the truth—
I knew it, she said. Why don’t you just not think about it? It’ll go away in time.
It’s taking a lot longer than I expected. Plus, I think it might be bigger.
She took a sip of coffee before answering.
Remember the doctor gave you the mild cream, because of your skin—
I should have got the strong cream.
But your skin.
I know, I know.
The bacon and eggs came. They dug in hungrily.
So what are we going to do today Marva, he said with his mouth full.
You know that’s a bad habit.
What?
Talking with your mouth full.
He chewed a moment more, then swallowed.
Sorry, he said—so anyway what are we going to do today?
Oh, it’s up to you.
How about the museum.
Mmmm—I don’t know if I want to go into the city. Besides—the doctor said you should rest that foot. There’s a lot of walking in the museum.
True. What about a movie?
Oh—there’s no movies I want to see.
You don’t want to do anything today do you?
She looked up with a forkful of eggs lifted before her.
Not really. I’m for resting today—
Suddenly, his face writhed.
—what’s the matter? Why that face? What’s the matter is something wrong—
I—I can’t believe it.
What?
It’s fallen off.
How do you know?
I felt it. Here—
Reaching down, he shook his pant leg.
There, he said. It’s gone. I can’t believe it—
Where is it?
It fell out my pants leg.
You mean it’s on the floor under the table?
Yes.
Eeewww—lets get out of here—
Why?
I can’t sit here with that thing on the floor under here. What if I touch it with my foot.
I still need to finish my eggs.
Then I’m going to go out and wait for you in the car. Do you mind?
I don’t get it, he said.
What?
When it was on me you weren’t this disgusted.
Sure I was. But that was different. Now that it’s off you, it’s just—just a disgusting thing on the floor. I’m going. I’m going before I puke.
Marva wouldn’t look him in the eye as she rose and left the booth and went out the door toward the car. He dug into his bacon and eggs; the remaining food would take about ten minutes to eat, he thought. Chewing, he thought of the thing under the table. Someone would sweep out under the table—somebody would see it there on the floor—would they even know what it was? Then it would go in the dustpan and go into the trash can—then it would be dumped into the dumpster out back, where all the feral cats came to forage at twilight. What if one of the cats found it, got it—what if the cat ate it, would it fall ill? Chewing, he thought of the cat writhing and twisting and flopping around—he hoped it wouldn’t fall out of the dumpster and be gotten by the cats. It’s much too dangerous for the poor beasts. It should stay in the dumpster and be brought to the dump, and buried with the other trash under a thin layer of earth—and he suddenly felt sad for it, because it had been part of him for so long—it had gone wherever he had gone. He had rubbed cream on it twice daily. He had kept it clean. It had given him something to talk about. He had cared about it. He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth and realized his eggs were almost gone, and he would have to leave, and leave it under the table and his stomach sank thinking of leaving it here, but he would, and he did. He really should be glad it’s gone—and he made himself be glad as he laid down the tip, drained his coffee and headed for the register up front to pay, leaving it. He left the diner. He left it behind forever and gradually it faded from his mind.
After he left, another couple came into the restaurant and were seated in the booth. After ordering and getting their coffee the woman frowned and spoke.
I suddenly feel terribly sad, John.
Why?
I don’t know. I have this funny feeling that—something terrible is going to happen.
Did you take your pills this morning, said John.
Yes. I did.
He stretched his hand out across the table, and took hers in his.
It will be all right, Wendy.
Everything will be all right.
As they sat there eyes locked, smiles playing about their newlywed faces, it moved under the table and began the long crawl up his shoe toward his pants cuff. From there it was just a brief crawl to the top of the sock to the skin, the clean skin, where it would attach itself again. And over time John also would be taught that waiting for change always seems to take longer than you would expect, and brings forth strange emotions; because such teaching was the lonely, long mission, of the growth.
Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.
Problems with this page? Then deal with it...
