February is the Tuesday of the Year
Two Micros and an Itty Bitty Story Published
February is the Tuesday of the year. In February, you’re far enough removed from the holidays of the year before that the memories of festivities are replaced by the understanding that you’re staring down months of winter still ahead and you should have your kids’ entire summer schedules fully planned. February is not for unwinding Christmas decorations and reminiscing about old times as you ceremoniously dump friends’ and distant relatives’ holiday cards and letters into the garbage. That’s January’s job. And January, with her bouncy, blind optimism in her 31 days of overcast and bone-breaking cold while promising you your new life is unfolding (you just have to make 12-14 changes, massive and small IMMEDIATELY) is something of a nuisance, a door-to-door salesman whose knock you have to answer because if you don’t, your kids will, anyway.
February is the medicine you mix into your dog’s treats. It’s necessary, you can’t expect it to be taken on its own, and most of the time you’d rather take a note from your dog and hide under the bed than endure it.
February is shorter, at least. An off-ramp from January, an it’s-okay-to-give-up-that-new-thing time. It’s a cover-it-up-with-chocolate and it’s-always-Valentine’s-Day-in-my-heart (so don’t get mad at me for forgetting your present) stretch of days. At least in March you can see the future. And the delirium of April is untethered. People wear shorts by the date on the calendar, not the temperature.
The rest of the year is history.
But you gotta take your February before you get your dessert, mister. So let’s get on with it.
Two Micros
“Storms”
Last time I saw a storm like this Mama fell over in the ditch. I was watchin her chase Chuckles, who was runnin cross the road like a headless chicken, and she tripped and fell down on her face. She was soakin wet when she came back to the house, yellin like crazy at Chuckles, callin him all kinds of names I can’t repeat. He wouldn’t even bark, he was so scared. Daddy says stay away from windows so I gotta make sure he doesn’t see me. He’s busy right now, though, trying to calm Mama down. She’s bawling worse than the baby when he loses his chew-chew, she’s so scared. I don’t know what she’s so scared of, anyway. Just some wind and rain. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, birds fly straight into the window cuz they think it’s just a regular hole. They get knocked out cold and some of em die and Terry and I like to run go see. Sounds like that right now. Like a bunch a birds flying into the window. Mama said that day when she was chasin Chuckles that we are lucky we have a basement to get to cuz lotsa folks threw themselves into ditches and whatnot. That’s how Aunt Tammy broke her hip and hit her head, Mama says. She died in the hospital a few days later. I don’t really remember Aunt Tammy, but Mama likes to tell me stories. We never talk about storms, though.
“Partners”
Brakes whine. She drops to the frozen ground. Scents don’t loiter so much in the winter. It’s not quite true, but it’s her mantra, anyway. She rounds the back of the truck. Lloyd watches from the yawning side mirror. A bassinet rests on the curb. She swallows the heat that comes. What a shit job to have at 10 weeks along. Lloyd offered to let her drive, but everything at this point upsets her. Lloyd opens the door, eager to assist. Is she weak? She clutches the like-new piece of garbage to her body before tossing it in the hopper.
Also! I have a 50-word story called “Forget” that was published last week.
Thank you for reading. I hope all is well with you.