Amelia Gray - Museum of the Weird

“Taco meat from Thursday and marinara sauce. Some ketchup.” “What about the King Ranch?”

“Chicken quesadillas. The tortillas went stale.”

“How late do you work tonight?”

She looks at me and doesn’t say anything. Under the table, I rip my napkin in half, and then in half again, and again and it’s snowing white paper over my shoes.

“You might want to come to my home for dinner,” I say. When Jeannie and I walk to my home, the following does not happen.

1. We turn miniscule but not unimportant, and find that blades of grass have their own weapons, though they are weapons against small insects, who look like demons at close proximity;

2. The sidewalk turns liquid and claims us, drawing us deep through hot sharp earth, where we meet those from generations past as well as some people working in a coal mine;

3. A wise man confronts us and suggests that the Pieta is the most beautiful piece of art ever made by a human in the history of the world and while I don’t disagree I think it might be even better as a fountain.

I do, however, realize that Jeannie is essential to not one but both of my responsibilities and is therefore very precious to me. She nourishes my body with her daily leftover specials and she is strong and essential to the health and safety of my mind. It is when I look dreamily at the pendular motion of her golden cross that I realize I feel entirely well. Inside my heart, the generator rides the thumping aortic valve in blissful, silent contentment. Jeannie’s hair flows behind her like a river. I am in ecstasy.

In my home, Jeannie looks around. “It’s cleaner than I thought,” she says.

I offer her a mint because I’m not sure what else to do with her. We are both very shy, and we are not used to interpersonal communication outside the arena of the café. I do feel very shy. My generator feels that I feel very shy.

She pinches a mint with clean fingers. We both smell like ground beef.

“Where did you get this box?” she says.

“From a catalog.”

“It’s adorable,” she says, taking it and turning it over in her hands. “Isn’t this what priests keep communion wafers in?”

“A pyx,” I say. “It came blessed.”

She looks around the room. Her eyes see: table, books, parament, pyx collection, stove, palm fronds, window, stained glass. In the stained glass, she sees tiny bubbles which contain worlds.

“Did all this come from a catalog?” she says.

“The oven came with the apartment.”

She laughs, and then she stops laughing. She looks at the oven and I want to tell her that it actually did come with the apartment and that’s not a joke and she’s really quite kind to come over for dinner and I’m sorry that I didn’t make anything and moreover that I don’t have anything in the house to eat because I usually take my meals out because it’s good for the spirit and as usual what’s good for the spirit is bad for the wallet.

Jeannie sits down at the table and begins to cry. I touch her hair with my lips and her head is warm and smells like a glass of milk. She sobs and holds her fists closed on her knees.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m frightened.”

My fingertips brush against the place where her hair is drawn up in a ponytail and I say, “you certainly shouldn’t be frightened of me, if that is what you are frightened of.”

“No,” she says. “I am having a fight with my husband and I have nobody to talk about it with. I am frightened he will leave me,” she says.

(Then, a terrible thing happens: My brain leaves the picture entirely. The room goes completely black, and the spotlight comes up on the two of us — Jeannie at the table, with my brainless body propped up behind her. Someone coughs. The curtain man lights his cigarette and digs into the fuse box.)

JEANNIE

(in tears)

I am frightened he will leave me.

ARNOLD

Don’t be frightened. Please, let’s talk about it, between the two of us. Let’s work out a solution for you.

JEANNIE

I can’t do that. I feel awful about doing this to you, burdening you with this.

ARNOLD

(putting his hands on her shoulders)

It’s no trouble at all, my dear. Can’t you see? I care very much for you. How long have you been married?

JEANNIE

Six months. He’s a good man, he has a good job. He’s great in bed—

ARNOLD

And why don’t you wear a ring?

JEANNIE

We’re getting rings tattooed on our fingers as soon as we can find the perfect artist. I figure it’s more lasting that way.

ARNOLD

So what’s the problem?

JEANNIE

If you’d let me get to it—

ARNOLD

(laughs suddenly)

I just don’t see the problem then, pretty girl like you, a newlywed, striking out in the world with a sensitive and handsome man—

JEANNIE

Whoever said he was handsome?

ARNOLD

Your responsibility overall is to care for your own life and your own handsome husband because he is a lucky man and to see you sad should be one of the great sadnesses in his life and I’ll tell you that honestly, it should be one of his greatest sadnesses.

JEANNIE

Whoever said he was handsome?

BLACKOUT.

“What gives?”

“Sorry.” I reach for the wall, feeling for the switch. When I find it, she’s looking at me with fish eyes.

“I think I’d better go,” she says. She stands up and I shrink back in my chair. “But thank you for the advice.”

She is a tower of a woman! In the center of my seat, I am acutely aware of the false-feeling velvet under my hands.

“Would you like a glass of water?” I ask the tower of Jeannie. “No, thank you.” She reaches across the room and puts her hand on the doorknob. She fills my apartment and I cower in the low cover of the chair cushion. And then the whump whump of my brain as it comes down the stairs two at a time, looking for breakfast. As she leaves, she sees a man alone at his kitchen table, blessing himself before the invisible feast.

After that, as after all great tragedies, the days go by: Jeannie serves me meatloaf at the café.

Jeannie serves me spaghetti and meatballs at the café. Jeannie serves me pork barbecue and french fries at the café. Jeannie serves me breakfast tacos at the café.

Jeannie serves me fajitas at the café.

Jeannie serves me onion soup at the café.

Jeannie serves me quesadillas at the café.

Jeannie serves me chicken fried steak at the café.

Jeannie serves me grilled cheese sandwiches at the café. Jeannie serves me steak and eggs at the café.

Jeannie serves me baked potato at the café.

Jeannie serves me tomato soup at the café.

Jeannie serves me pork chops at the café.

Jeannie serves me cheese crisp at the café.

Jeannie serves me ham and cheese at the café.

Jeannie serves me fish sandwiches at the café.

Jeannie serves me chicken salad at the café.

Jeannie serves me corn dogs at the café.

Jeannie serves me tamale pie at the café.

Jeannie serves me vegetable soup at the café.

Jeannie serves me macaroni at the café.

Jeannie serves me chili at the café.

And one day, I come home to find the Virgin Mary sitting at my kitchen table.

“Hey there,” she says. She is eating mints from my favorite pyx.

“How did you get in here?”

“I try doors. Aren’t you that guy from the fountain?” She offers me a mint.

My hands are huge and I am concerned they will flatten her in the course of my reach. She watches my awkward progress with careful pinhole eyes. When I touch the pyx, she snaps it closed.

“What is life?” she asks.

“Alive,” I say, “and well.”