chapter 1
fiction
HUFFINGTON
09.23.12
to see the contrast. How long were those pageful reports.
How little she spoke. How wealthy she would be if she just
charged him a dollar a word.
I am twenty-four-hours resentment, said Janet, in her
bustier, to the glinting mirror. I am every-cell resentment.
I am one hell of a big resentment, she said. The mirror and
wall did not answer. They knew very well what she was
like by now. But when had it shifted? In high school, she’d
walked tall in her own deprivation and had volunteered at
the homeless shelter in her free time. She bought her dad
charming birthday gifts and the homeless shelter made
her a mobile saying she was wonderful, with each paper
letter brightly colored, hanging from the stick. The N and
R fell off in a week, so over her bed, for years, the stick
slowly turned, announcing
WODEFUL. I am grateful,
she’d said every day in high
school, grateful for the food
I AM TWENTY-FOURon my plate and the roof
HOURS RESENTMENT,
over my head. Grateful for
SAID JANET, IN HER
my dad. Grateful I live in a
BUSTIER, TO THE
country where we have opGLINTING MIRROR. I
tions. For our beautiful enAM EVERY-CELL REvironment, she said on SatSENTMENT. I AM ONE
urdays, sorting through the
sticky plastic bottles at the
HELL OF A BIG RErecycling center.
SENTMENT, SHE SAID.
Now, years later, even
washing a single dish irritated her. I do everything
around here, she grumbled
to herself while moving the sponge over the circle. Even
though she knew it wasn’t true. She hadn’t done the
dishes in weeks. Daniel changed all the light bulbs and
paid the bills. He rubbed her feet and listened to her com-