I can only see the face when I stand in a certain part of the yard. It’s just about halfway up the White Pine out front. It’s not a human face, more like a fantasy beast in profile. He’s definitely male, so I relate to it somewhat. His forehead comes out to a point where the limb ends. There are needles that form a small break to make a pinhole eye. And a shoot of needles creates a smiling mouth. Kind of looks like he’s waiting for a joke.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in my family who has made out this face. It’s nice, like having a friend that nobody else knows about. Since I’m the one who lost their job, all the household chores fell to me, including lawncare. Whenever I mow, I look up to see him smiling back at me. He’s like a neighbor who always waves, even though I haven’t found an arm to match the head.
*****
I have a lot of free time to read these days, which is good since I have a backlog of books. Books I bought while I was working, only to set them on my shelves to wait for me to find the time.
I’m currently tackling Dante’s Inferno.
The only issue is the terrier trying to catch my attention. Not in an annoying way, she’s just making sure that I can see her staring at me at the edge of my book. I can’t blame her. She wants attention, she wants to play. I want to rest, I want to read.
I see her ears perk up. She runs to the door and starts screaming. It means that someone is coming home. I feel a thud in my chest. I want to join her, to throw away my reading and bark at the door and jump around and scream in ecstasy for whoever’s here. I just manage to resist the impulse, but reading is over. I’ve read the same line five times.
The door swings open, in comes my brother. The terrier jumps on him to say hello while I try to calmly set my book down. He greets her with the baby-voice she loves. His steel-toed boots fall off with a thud.
I greet him with a throwaway, “Hey.”
His response is little more than a grunt.
“Did you have a good day?”
He starts toward the kitchen, “What’s for dinner?”
I tell him. That will probably be the only interaction I will have with him today. I don’t think he even glanced in my direction.
*****
The protests are plastered over every TV channel. The signs people are waving all say that these are the actions I’ve been waiting for, something to give me meaning. I can’t join in.
*****
I’m proud of the dinner I made. Bean soup with a side of cornbread. It’s the same dish that Ma always makes, a family favorite. I’ve put in my own surprise. For an extra kick of flavor, I’ve added chives to the cornbread.
“Guys! Food’s ready.”
Ma’s bedroom door opens and I can hear my brother rush up from the basement. Ma is the first to see her food. Her eyes brighten then dim.
“Oh honey. Thank you, but my stomach is hurting tonight.”
My brother stands over the cornbread, “What’s the green stuff in here?”
I tell him and his nose crinkles in the way that it always does when he won’t eat something. Like an animal sniffing a rotting carcass.
“I’m alright. I got McDonalds on the way home.”
“I think I’m just going to have some soda crackers tonight hun.”
I’m left alone with a pot full of soup and a full pan of bread. I make a small plate for myself and eat it at the table. All that’s left makes its way into various containers and sits in the fridge.
The beans slowly disappear over the week, so someone’s at least eating them. I’m the only one picking at the cornbread. When the week is up, I toss what’s left to the dog who can barely contain her excitement at eating human food.
*****
I’m not a jewelry person. Especially now that I wear an anklet that bangs against my ankle and sends my location to the state. But it keeps me where I am, and I guess I have to respect something that does its job well.
*****
I need to get out of the house. I’ve been here and nowhere else for over a year. I make the excuse to myself that I can go pick up the mail. While I get ready, I hear a little whine behind me. Our terrier is giving me the eyes, begging to come with. That’s how I find myself with a little companion.
When we get to the end of the driveway I stop. It’s just a few more steps to the street-side mailbox, but I can’t make myself take them. My chest constricts, my breathing shallows, my palms sweat. Just at my feet is the crack that separates driveway from road, but it may as well be a canyon.
I look down at the dog, and she looks back, waiting to see what we do next. I can’t give her an answer. I scratch behind her ear, “I guess one of them can pick it up on their way home, huh?”
She half-heartedly wags her tail. Her eyes have changed. It feels like she’s looking at me with contempt.
On our way back I stop to say hello to the tree face. A new sprout has formed an ugly knot on his forehead. The wind shakes the tree. The beast’s mouth moves, laughing at a joke.
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