She let her head rest on the table, her spine curved like a scimitar. The chair wasn’t comfortable. It was hard, cold, wobbly under her body. Unstable. The coffee in front of her called and her hands reached for it, wrapped around it, fingers interlaced. She pulled the ceramic mug closer to her body, to the place where her ribs met and fused, the place just outside of her heart. Kayla studied the mug from above, the two round ears and pointed noise, the black body and red pants, all upside down from her view. The mug was an uncomfortable joke. She hated Disneyland, hated everything it stood for: consumerism, gluttony, privilege, the fantasy of peace in that annoying “it’s a small world after all” ride. When she was little, she didn’t hate Disneyland. She wore her Mickey Mouse ears with religious fervor, was pissed when a babysitter threw her into the pool with her ears on. Kayla’s mom threw the little hat with plastic ears in the drier to soothe a furious Kayla. She pulled out the transformed hat: ears deformed, the felt crumpled tight. Kayla stared blankly in the mirror, the hat an upside down cup of anxiety on her head. She threw it across the room, wouldn’t pick it up, wouldn’t look at it. Her mom secreted it to the trashbin when Kayla stormed out of the room. Annual passholders, her mom took her to the Magic Kingdom the following weekend, offered to buy her another set of ears. Kayla chose a giant swirly lollipop and Little Mermaid doll instead.
When the door opened Kayla lifted her head but didn’t turn her face. She brought the mug to her lips, took a sip. The coffee inside the mug was cold. She took another sip, set it down, stared out the window.
How’s it looking, Adam?
Shitty. Just fucking shitty.
That bad?
That close.
Ugh. People are idiots. Right? They’re just stupid, right?
Misinformed. Misguided by Fox, the internet, QAnon bullshit. And some are idiots, for sure.
Adam sat down in the hard, cold, wobbly chair across from Kayla and put his phone down on the oiled wood. He reached across the table and peeled a hand off her mug revealing Mickey’s manic smile. Her hand was so warm in his cold one.
We’re going to be OK, right?
He shifted his gaze from her face to the table, to the clock above the stove, to the window. Felice, their tabby cat, sauntered in from the living room, yawned and wound her way from ankle to ankle to ankle to ankle.
Kayla blew air out of her mouth. Her body curved again, her chest against the table, one hand still gripping the mug.
Just tell me we’re going to be OK. Just lie or whatever. I mean, I know you don’t know. I know you think there’s going to be a fucking civil war or at the very least violent protests, National Guard deployment, scary shit. But just tell me we’re going to be OK. Please?
We are OK in this moment, Kayla. We just have to wait and see about the rest.
You know I’m really bad at waiting. Can you just check the thingy again? See if it’s changed? Kayla reached for Adam’s phone. In one motion he slid the phone off the table, stood up, put it in his back pocket, and continued to hold her hand.
Let’s go for a walk.
Kayla leaned back against his pull, scrunched up her face.
I don’t think we should go outside.
Are you serious? We live on a dirt road. Nobody comes up here.
Except for truck guy. Flag truck guy.
We haven’t seen him in weeks.
Yeah, but he knows where we live. He knows we support the other side. We have a BLM sign, that’s all he needs, even if it’s hung on a kids wagon. Maybe he’ll think we have kids but maybe he doesn’t care even if we did. Didn’t you read about that guy in Quebec with the sword? He killed like three people.
Wait, wait, what? Kayla, that wasn’t even election related.
You don’t know that.
It was in Canada, Kayla. Canadians don’t give a shit about the circus down here.
You don’t know that.
Holy shit, girl, we need to get out of here. Let’s go for a walk. I know for sure that nature doesn’t give a shit about the election. The deer don’t care. The raccoons could care less. The grass will grow and the trees will lose their leaves no matter who wins.
Actually…
No, don’t say it. I know the idiot wants to cut down the old growth and pave over the grass. He pulled her to the door. Just stop, OK, just for a little bit. We’re OK, we’re alive, lets move these legs and…
(sound of engine revving, flag flapping, then metal clanking, crashing. A horn honks to the tune of ‘A shave and a haircut’ but stops short of the last phrase. A minute of silence. A thud on the door.)
Kayla and Adam stand frozen next to the door.
Fuck fuck fuck, Kayla shook. Don’t answer it!
It wasn’t a knock, Kayla. It was...something. A tomato maybe? Really truck guy? His voice shook.
Tomatoes aren’t in season!
Oh my god, Kayla. There’s a store on the island, remember? I can’t believe we’re saying this. He moved towards the door.
Don’t open it! She tried to back away from the door, tried to pull his arm, but Adam barely strained against her, shook his arm out of hers.
I just want to see. Maybe it was the newspaper.
It didn’t sound like a newspaper. And at 10am? That’s never happened. Just, please, don’t, OK?
Hand on the doorknob, another hand on the doorframe, back to Kayla’s crumpling face, he slowly opened the heavy wooden door.