The Martyr’s Palm
Paper-based billing, unlike automatic bank transfer,
compels one to decide whether to do what one must.
At the supermarket, only two cash registers are operating. After evaluating the customers and cashiers, trying to guess which line will move faster, Beatrix Sakakino tentatively chooses the one on the right.
Is the world mist? she wonders. Or am I the mist?
She remembers his hands. His elbows. His substantial shoulders.
If I’m only proud of myself when I’m quiet, why can I never stay quiet?
His skin smelled like tobacco. His breath when asleep was irregular and turbulent.
Am I doing the same old thing for a brand new reason?
She has come to buy milk—that’s her pretext, anyway. The walk from her apartment was refreshing. The year is just warming.
Does another person’s shame give me the right to behave shamefully?
She likes her neighborhood. It’s a quaint street, a mix of tiny shops and modest homes. It all has to end.
Should I hate him? Am I in love with being in love? Is self-destruction really so romantic?
The year will run out. Winter always comes back. And she’s going to leave this neighborhood. She wants to—it’s a great comfort to plan to leave.
Am I just a pocket of lukewarm air?
Sometimes the least painful way to leave somebody is for them to leave you.
Do people really mix their souls together?
A look at the other cashier’s line shows that it’s moving faster than hers. Which gives her a moment longer.
I never have.
Dale Stromberg studied writing with the novelists Richard Bankowsky and Doug Rice in Sacramento, and lives in Malaysia now with his family.