Amelia Gray: AM/PM

To appease her in the evenings, Reginald would fix something small around the house. To show her that he was still vital, he would change the dead bulbs in the foyer chandelier or put new hinges on the driveway gate. At night, he bathed in a bathtub she filled with gallons upon gallons of mineral oil.

Olivia dreams that her body becomes pliable enough that she can stretch very thin and cover most of the rooms of the house. Her body is so thin that the bones are clearly visible, and the veins stretch, and the blood has more distance to travel and as a result, the edges of her body are very cold. Reginald opens the front door, removes his shoes, and takes only one step before recoiling in horror at the chilly mass that is Olivia’s body, stretched and waiting. In her dreams, she controls every aspect of her life.

They are conduits of emotion, kids are. They’re parrots who wear little shoes. The only difference is, when you see a parrot, you never say, gosh, that parrot says the darndest things. You might look at the parrot and say Polly? Polly? even when the owner says very clearly to you that the parrot’s name is not Polly. You might say to the parrot, Polly want a cracker? Polly? Why are you wearing little shoes?

They were in love! At night, Carla would read a book and soak her feet in the kitchen sink. Leonard found it charming, and would sometimes kiss her feet when she came to bed. Sometimes there was still soap between her toes, and he cherished the soap and cherished the toes. She would laugh and kick at him playfully and call it a feast of love. If he had nightmares she would praise his fantastic imagination until he slept again and dreamed that he won a highly respected award. He made crepes for lunch, and they would spread butter or chocolate or pesto sauce inside and discuss if savory or sweet was superior. Their discussions often ended with a cavalcade of laughing shoves, and then he’d return again to the feet, kissing the soft pads of her toes while she squealed.

Eventually something wasn’t right, and the two moved on, and Carla told her new boyfriends that she’d always thought the foot thing was creepy.

E,

Baby, you give me hives. You’re lucky. I happen to think it’s an essential function of any relationship that one party be covered in hives at all times. Even in business relationships. Secret hives. You know what I’m talking about.

— M.

Just because you made it warm doesn’t make it yours: A lesson for felines.

Feline Posits: What if one makes it warm for a long time?

A Response: I will still put it on the towel rack, because it is still a towel.

Feline Posits: What if one conveys pride of ownership via claws?

A Response: Nothing is truly owned, supporting nothing is truly yours.

Feline Posits: What of one’s blood, in one’s body?

A Response: Blood does not own the body, and body does not own the blood, so says the Rite of Communion.

Feline Posits: What is to become of us, then, and our loneliness?

A Response: Be blessed with the temporary nature of the towel, and of your body.

Doreen sat naked at the table, uploading her photographs. “I have complete control of my cropping area!” she said.

Charles closed the science magazine he had been reading at the breakfast nook. “That’s comforting,” he said, taking up his tea.

Her black hair was so long by now, it coiled around the base of her chair. She was too lazy to put it up, or had misplaced all of her rubber bands, and it spread out so thick behind her that it looked like she’d grown from it, instead of the other way around.

He watched the hair like it was his wife, and his wife like she was an adornment of her hair, a barrette or peach-colored band. “Would you like a glass of water?” he asked.

“That’s strange.”

“Water is strange?”

Doreen’s hair was bright and soft. She hadn’t showered, and the oils gave it a healthy luster. “Once you’re married for ten years,” she said, “you should start forgetting to ask if I want water.” Charles was mesmerized by the way it fell over her shoulders, which were not beautiful, or which were beautiful but not as beautiful as her hair.

“We are among the lucky,” Charles said.

And may the women hold their brave faces to the sun as the men become afflicted with a terrible pestilence, and may their flesh rain upon the heads of the chosen people. May their hair clog the sewers in the streets, and their broken bodies tumble into the sea! May their useless fury fail to stir the tapestries in the temple, and may the LORD find solace in their swift destruction!

Leonard decided that the chaise longue was his favorite piece of furniture and that he would never leave it. We had to bring his soup upstairs, and even then he didn’t like to eat, because he was afraid he would drip on the chaise longue. We’d all sit around and talk a little, but none of the chairs in his house were as comfortable, and once Leonard claimed it, it felt strange to sit on it with him. We were closer than we meant to be, even if we were sitting on the far side of the chaise longue. After a while, it felt strange to be in the same room with the two of them.

Sam came out of the bathroom glowering, like it was Hazel’s fault.

“Feeling better?” Hazel said.

“Coffee hurts when it comes back up.”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

He sat next to her on the couch, his hands balled into fists. He smacked his lips.

“We should go to breakfast,” said Hazel.

Sam looked at her.

This massive PDF file is a symbol of my love for you. It is graphic and full of information. It takes time to fully load, and when it’s running I find it difficult to complete other work. There are parts that I would rather not read, parts I have to read, and parts I’ll never read or even know about, but they will always be there. I cannot change the content of this massive PDF file, and I cannot decide when it will begin or end. In fact, it is always there, on my desktop. Even if I put it in my Recycle Bin, it is there, and even if I empty the Recycle Bin it is still there somewhere . I would have to powder the hard drive to be rid of all traces of this massive PDF file, which is a symbol of my love for you.

Tess felt rather certain that she would die alone. She blamed her arms, which she found to be fatter than normal arms. She blamed her poor body image, which she couldn’t seem to shake, even as she got older and found that the girls around her had turned into women, had gotten pregnant and lost their shapes entirely. She took too many pictures of herself and scrutinized them for flaws, and then made copies of the prints and taped them on telephone poles across town with her phone number printed clearly across them.

People called from all over, mostly men, asking about the girl in the photograph. Tess told them, That girl is a runaway, and if you find her, try to keep her in one place and secretly phone the police.

The men said, She looks a little old for a runaway.

Tess said, She’s disturbed.

When she went out, Tess was much bolder than usual. She wore sleeveless shirts and made eye contact with the boys at the check-out counter. In the library, she sat at a center table and held her face to the light as she read. Whenever anyone approached her to ask if she had been helped, or if she had read other books by that author, she gathered her things and ran. Nobody could ever see what she was running from.