by Kathy Fish
"Oh, damn,” I say. “A kitty.”
"It looks sort of lumpy," he says. There's a drop of rain holding on to the tip of his nose and steam rising from his shoulders. "We should move it."
There's a big to-do for several minutes as he searches for something to push it with. He tells me he doesn't want to use his bare fucking hands and I tell him of course, no one would. He finds a sodden cardboard box and peels off one side of it and shapes it into a sort of scoop.
"These ponchos are worthless."
"Stop goading me," he says. He's trying to work the cardboard under the kitten's carcass. He takes off his sneaker and nudges it. Stuff oozes out, soiling the toe of his shoe.
A car comes and we go back to the side of the road. It weaves around the kitten, but another one comes behind and roars right over it, flattening and severing its head from its body and we go back out and stare at it awhile.
"Put your shoe back on, baby."
He studies my face and tells me if I have to smoke, if I’m going crazy, I can go clog up my lungs under the viaduct and I tell him I’m not going crazy yet.
The scoop falls apart in his hands. His glasses are splattered with rain. He pulls them off and rubs his bruised looking face, the new whiskers on his chin. I hate watching him struggle, but he struggles a lot so I’m getting used to it.
"Fuck," he says. "And fuck and fuck and fuck and fuck."
Under my poncho, I clench and unclench my hands. My cigarettes are in my pocket, but I leave them.
"Baby, it seems like there are people whose whole job it is to remove dead animals, like we have here. I feel crummy. And I have to pee. I want to take a bath and go back to bed and sleep for a hundred hours."
"I'm sorry," he says. "This is awful, isn't it?"
The wind stirs up and blows my hood back. The rain comes harder, in waves.
"Only if I'm not still your baby." I swallow rain and move closer. "Only if I'm not still your tenderoni."
"Oh," he says. He pats my head and he’s never patted my head before. He stoops and picks up the kitten's smooshed head and its body and the pieces are so small in his hands. Together, we walk to the side of the road and I watch as he chucks them, hard, into a patch of high weeds.
All content in SmokeLong Quarterly copyright 2003-2014 by its authors.
Kathy Fish's stories have been published or are forthcoming in Quick Fiction, Denver Quarterly, New South, Indiana Review and elsewhere. Her collection of seventeen short shorts appears in a book entitled "A Peculiar Feeling of Restlessness" published by Rose Metal Press.
Read the interview.
Robinson Accola creates artwork for SmokeLong Quarterly as needed.
|Issue Twenty-Two (October 2, 2008):
Innocence, Briefly by Jenny Arnold «»
Tapioca O's by Natalie DeClerck «»
How Anything Got Done by Paul Elwork «»
Tenderoni by Kathy Fish «»
Breathing Oysters by Stefanie Freele «»
The Mime's Dog by Steven Douglas Gullion «»
Two Minute Silence by Sarah Hilary «»
Crazy Sun by Lauren Huckstadt «»
One Night Out by Ashley Kaufman «»
Asian Girl by W.P. Kinsella «»
Fatback by Jeff Landon «»
Bounty by Tricia Louvar «»
Beautiful by Antonios Maltezos «»
Constructing Birds by Jo Mortimer «»
Private Room by M.E. Parker «»
True Identity by Kevin Sampsell «»
Campfire by Donna D. Vitucci «»
Jenny Arnold «»
Paul Elwork «»
Kathy Fish «»
Stefanie Freele «»
Steven Douglas Gullion «»
Sarah Hilary «»
Ashley Kaufman «»
Jeff Landon «»
Tricia Louvar «»
Antonios Maltezos «»
Jo Mortimer «»
M.E. Parker «»
Kevin Sampsell «»
Donna D. Vitucci «»
Cover Art "November Leaves" by Marty D. Ison «»
Letter From the Editor