The Wedge in Between by Debbie Ann Eis He came yesterday, stayed through tomorrow. This was the moment wedged between. He said, hey Darlin, and held me, like I was naked again, but I was not naked, I was layered like a wedding cake—cotton on cotton on cotton, topped by wool, the last cloth several inches removed from my nipple. But there it was—my nipple—stiff and hard, feeling his chest hairs. My nipples can feel a man's chest hairs one mile away. I said, well, whacha say, Sweets? He said, are you still mad, Darlin? I said depends, are you sorry? He said no, I did nothing wrong. I said, then I am still mad. He said, Darlin, you are complex. And my nipples? They were still hard, could still feel his chest hairs. I was not really mad, I like to play mad, although I did deserve to be mad. He was what my mama used to call enervating. She had all these big words reserved for certain people. I said, Sweets, you are enervating. He kept holding me, like this moment wedged in between his sinning and tomorrow was all we had. I figured he was thinking about sorry, how to say it in such a way as to avoid confession. I had always been the sorry person. Even when he forgot the split wood, and we were without electricity, I managed to find fault in myself. I had kept him in bed with me too long, tiring him out. We ended up burning some of our old furniture. We had sex a few more times, and I said I'm sorry over and over. It feels great during an orgasm. "Oh God" gets old. But "I'm sorry?" Try it. He said, you need to tell the truth, you always lying. I said, Sweets, I am as innocent as that mole on the inside of your thigh. He said, you have a mouth on you and a chip on your shoulder. Bad combination. I said, but I say I'm sorry. He said, well, yes you do. I said, and you don't. He said, no I don't. And there it was. Yesterday was vinegar and spit rolled up into bodies—him, the non-sorry, me the sorry, him the confident one, me, the mouth with scars. Tomorrow is a million days sepia—him, hunger reaching for hamburgers with chips on the side; me, desire reaching for a diaper, the how- to-grow-the-new human book. My hard nipples a distant memory. When his hands made it to my skin, he laughed and said, I know you will confess your sins, Darlin. I said I did nothing wrong. But I did just what he said. I said I'm sorry, I'm sorry, all night long, until the sun rose over tomorrow and the days came at me dull and my feet hit the hardwood floor like small sacks of sugar waiting to be tossed. All content in SmokeLong Quarterly copyright 2003-2010 by its authors.
	Debbie Ann Eis's work has been online and in small print, most recently at 3 AM magazine, Elimae, Word Riot, Write Side Up, Wild Strawberries and others. She lives in Connecticut with her two boys, English bulldog and husband. Read the interview.
	Issue Seventeen (June 15, 2007): Renoir Responds to Aline Charigot’s Charges of Painting Her Ugly by Daniel Bailey «» Cymothoa Exigua by Christopher Battle «» Oblivious by Gary Cadwallader «» The Wedge in Between by Debbie Ann Eis «» One Purple Finch by Kathy Fish «» Clouds by James Hanley «» Mousafa's Woman by Kyle Hemmings «» First Night by Ric Jahna «» My Great-Aunt Meets Jesus at the Mobil Station in Montana by Stephanie Johnson «» Old Leningrad by Sandra Maddux-Creech «» Selective Memory by Mary McCluskey «» The Attraction of Asphalt by Stefani Nellen «» Of Potential by Jim Nelson «» Portrait of a Mother, Beforehand J.M. Patrick «» Midnight in Albuquerque by Tiffany Poremba «» Flatlining in the Edward G. Bellacosta Memorial Park by Jake Ruiter «» Prow by Claudia Smith «» I Know This Man; He is My Father. by Tavia Stewart «» In the Last Frame by Beth Thomas «» My First Two-Headed Boy by Veronica Thorn «» Interviews: Bob Arter «» Daniel Bailey «» Christopher Battle «» Gary Cadwallader «» Debbie Ann Eis «» Kathy Fish «» James Hanley «» Kyle Hemmings «» Ric Jahna «» Stephanie Johnson «» Sandra Maddux-Creech «» Mary McCluskey «» Stefani Nellen «» Jim Nelson «» J.M. Patrick «» Tiffany Poremba «» Jake Ruiter «» Claudia Smith «» Tavia Stewart «» Beth Thomas «» Veronica Thorn «» Cover Art "Peace in a Time of Monsters" by Marty D. Ison «» Letter From the Editor