Amy Gustine - You Should Pity Us Instead

Sarah runs him some water without waiting for the tap to cool or adding ice.

“I saw you talking to Michael,” he says. “He’s my nephew, known him his whole life.” The Judge takes a drink of water and wipes at the sweat still beading his hairline, which is now the midpoint of his skull. “He likes pretty girls.”

“I’m good. I can take care of myself,” Sarah says.

The Judge looks unconvinced. “Melanie tells me you helped her with a kid she had this year, somebody with problems.”

“I just gave him something to do on the playground. You need something to do when you’re alone.”

The Judge drinks his water. “So you grew up around here. What high school did you go to?”

“Several,” Sarah says. “I was in foster care.”

The Judge’s expression changes. Alert is the only word for it. “Foster care? Here? In Lucas County?”

Sarah nods.

“For how long?”

“Nine years.”

“You aged out?”

Sarah nods. “My mother died.”

“She died?” The Judge seems to relax a little. “Is that why you went into foster care?”

“No. They took me away first. My mom wanted me back. She was fighting, but then she drowned.”

The Judge pauses. “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”

“In the bathtub. She fell asleep and slipped under. There was no one there to drain the water.”

This settles on the Judge like déjà vu. She can see it in his wrinkled brow, the intensity of his stare.

“What is your last name?”

“Anderson. Sarah Elizabeth Anderson.”

For what seems a very long moment they stare at one another, each knowing what this means, and yet not. The back door slams. Bea is shouting, “It has my name! Sarah, it has my name !”

At Goodwill Sarah found an old doctor’s kit, complete with white lab coat, and sewed Bea’s name on the pocket. Bea starts with her grandfather. As she bangs away at his knee and shines a light in his ear, Sarah imagines becoming a doctor, but quickly decides the stakes are too high. Maybe she could be a teacher. So much to explain. Buy one good pan and scrape the fond. Stay put if you can and remember last names. Weave tight the net of space and time.

Bea has finished with the Judge and moves over to Sarah.

“I have to listen to your heart.” She rests the stethoscope on Sarah’s stomach.

“I don’t hear anything.”

Sarah moves it to the right place. “Try this.”

“It’s loud.” Bea’s expression grows serious and her lips begin to move, counting the rapid beats.

“Well, what do you think?”

Bea nods. “You’re healthy.”

“Thank you,” Sarah says. “That’s a relief.”

These stories, sometimes in slightly different form, first appeared in the following publications:

“All the Sons of Cain”: The Kenyon Review , May 2015

“Half-Life”: Alaska Quarterly Review , Spring & Summer 2015

“Prisoners Do”: Printers Row Journal, Chicago Tribune , Issue 159

“AKA Juan”: Cimarron Review , Issue 190, Winter 2015

“Coyote”: Ascent , March 2014

“Unattended”: PRISM international, Vol. 50.2, 2012

“You Should Pity Us Instead”: The Massachusetts Review, 2012

“When We’re Innocent”: Confrontation , Issue 107, 2010

“Goldene Medene”: Ballyhoo Stories , June 2006.

“The River Warta”: Natural Bridge , Issue 16, 2006

“An Uncontaminated Soul”: Black Warrior Review , October 2005

Support came in many forms from many people. First thanks go to my good friend and fellow writer Paul Many for hours of craft talk, encouragement, and reading more drafts than anyone should have to.

To my other longtime friends and fellow toilers Barb Goodman, Ann Epstein, Danielle LaVaque-Manty, Lori Eaton, Eleanor Shelton, Julie Babcock, and Jeanne Sirotkin for their thoughtful, generous feedback on the many pieces to which I’ve subjected them over the years. Particular credit and gratitude go to Keith Hood, around whom so much has pivoted.

I thank those who offered up pieces of themselves that inspired or enhanced these stories.

Special thanks to Caitlin Horrocks for going out on a limb and to Sarah Gorham, Kristen Radtke, Kirby Gann, and the whole Sarabande staff for their enthusiasm, advice, and hard work on my behalf.

Final and greatest thanks to Patrick, with all my love, for making it possible.

Amy Gustine’s short fiction has appeared in several magazines, including The Kenyon Review, North American Review, Black Warrior Review, PRISM international, Confrontation, Natural Bridge, and The Massachusetts Review . Her story “Goldene Medene” received Special Mention in Pushcart Prize XXXII . She lives in Ohio.