by r0z
Chapter I: Early Birds
Morning sun filtered through the evergreens flanking the apartment complex, painting its beige walls in a blanket of golden light. It bled through an open window into unit 206, stretching across knit blankets & photographic prints. Logging trucks & flatbeds could be heard growling through the greenbelt, making their way south to the mill across the bay. White, unflinching glare reflected on the television screen, obscuring the picture.
“. . . .Sunny skies ahead as you make your way into the office this morning, with highs in the mid 60s by the afternoon, dipping down to 43 degrees as the sun sets. It’ll be a brisk day on the Washington coast, with a balmy 57 degrees expected in Grays Harbor. We’re dry throughout most of the state, but expect some very light afternoon showers on the Olympic Peninsula. . .”
The 6am forecast droned on at a whisper as Francesca sipped her second cup of morning coffee. “Nice day,” she thought to herself, before precariously standing up from the leather sofa & walking towards the patio door. Her knees flexed & cracked loudly as she detached from her seat.
Francesca stepped into a pair of ratty pink slippers & carefully slipped through the backdoor onto the cobbled patio. She leaned onto the wooden railing & took a deep breath as she lit her cigarette, looking down onto the murky green pond across the grass. Another sleepy Sunday morning. It was good to finally be home, looking out on this familiar view, squinting into the sunlight glimmering on the sea. It was the little things she missed the most when away. Little things, like the creak of her mattress as she fell exasperated into bed, knowing the exact way to turn her water-stained faucet for a perfectly lukewarm shower, coffee brewed just the way she liked it & blankets that smelled like Kate. She took a drag of her cigarette & gingerly tapped the ashes over the railing, watching them float away like snowflakes. Salem 100s, exactly like her mother used to smoke. The sliding glass door whooshed open behind her.
“Hey you,” Francesca spoke without turning around.
Her girlfriend stepped barefoot onto the tiny second story patio & wrapped her arms around Francesca’s waist, leaning in for an embrace.
“Hey,” Kate giggled.
“You’re up early,” Francesca replied, turning to face her partner.
“Ah, it’s not that early, is it?”
“See what’s playing on the television in there?” Francesca pointed towards the TV with her cigarette, “6am news.”
“It’s 6am!?”
“Well, uh, it started at 6am. . .It’s like, I dunno, roughly 7:30 now.”
“Oh wow,” Kate yawned, “that’s crazy!” She looked across her partner’s shoulder to the highway flickering through the trees, to the distant clouds set afire on the horizon.
“I like this. I see why you get up this early,” Kate beamed.
“I get up this early because I need to get started on my work,” she laughed, “. . .and because your horrible snoring wakes me up.”
“That’s not true!” Kate protested.
Francesca held a hand in front of her face, poorly disguising a smile behind shaky fingers & a screen of cigarette smoke.
“How would you know?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“I just know it. Ugh, you’re so mean, even at 6am.”
“7:30.”
“Same thing!” Kate wrapped her arms around her chest, pouting.
“Hey, come here,” Francesca directed.
Kate hesitantly leaned in, arms crossed in protest, and looked down at her girlfriend expectantly. Francesca cocked her head & looked into Kate’s amber, half-shut eyes. Sunlight reflected off Francesca’s glasses in a sharp white point. She laid a hand on Kate’s hair, combing with her fingers, and pulled her in for a kiss.
“For the record,” Francesca spoke into her lips, “. . .you do not snore.”
Chapter II: Bacon ‘n’ Eggs
“Ooooohh, homemade breakfast? What’s the occasion?” Francesca spoke enthusiastically before taking a seat at the tiny dining room table & unfolding a copy of the Seattle Times.
“Well, you know. . .” Kate spoke as she scurried around the kitchen looking for a spatula, “. . .think of it as a welcome home gift, or something. I just thought it’d be nice.” Kate continued to slide precariously around the tile floor as she gathered ingredients & utensils.
“You’re cute. I was only gone for two weeks, you know.”
“Two weeks is a long time!” Kate insisted.
“Ah, I guess so. I guess we’re not really used to spending time apart, either.”
“Exactly.” Kate spoke with her back turned as she cracked three eggs into the pan, splattering her pajama pants with oil. “Sunny side up, right?”
“Yeah. Be careful with those yolks.”
“You doubtin’ me?”
Francesca laughed. “Maybe a little.”
“How dare you!” Kate turned and waved a black rubber spatula in Francesca’s direction, “and to think, this is the thanks I get for cooking breakfast for a weary traveler.” Kate closed her eyes and threw her head back disapprovingly.
“A. . .what? Did you just call me a ‘weary traveler?’”
“Yes.”
Francesca burst into laughter & pounded the table with her first.
“Hey, what’s so funny!?”
“God I missed you,” Francesca smiled, “keep an eye on those eggs.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” Kate twirled to face the stove again.
“So, what did you get up to while I was gone? Any wild parties? Orgies?”
“Nothing much, really.” Kate’s voice was overshadowed by the frantic cracking & popping of the oil.
“Huh? Sorry, the food is kind of loud.”
“NOTHING MUCH, REALLY,” Kate yelled into the stove.
“Okay, uh, that might be a bit—“
“I DUNNO, HONESTLY, I WAS MOSTLY JUST BORED. . .JUDY & OTHER KATE STOPPED BY A COUPLE TIMES, UHHH, I SAW MY MOM ON SATURDAY. . .” Kate continued to yell above the sound of her cooking.
“You’ve really overcorrected for the volume here,” Francesca spoke as a slice of bacon hit the frying pan, screaming as it made contact with the metal.
“. . .MOM SAYS HI, BY THE WAY. I TOLD HER YOU WERE OUT IN SPOKANE SEEING FAMILY, AND HOW YOU DON’T REALLY LIKE ‘EM. . .SHE SAID SHE’D REALLY LOVE TO GIVE THEM A PIECE OF HER MIND,” Kate continued to yell.
“Hah, that’s sweet,” Francesca spoke as she sipped her coffee.
“HUH???”
“Oh, uh, I SAID, THAT’S SWEET,” Francesca repeated.
“AHHHHH YOU KNOW HER, SHE’S A SWEETHEART. WE NEED TO GO OVER THERE NEXT WEEKEND, SHE JUST GOT NEW INTERNET & DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SET IT UP.”
“Sure, I’d love to help. Finally ditching dial-up, huh? Good for her.” Francesca spoke into her coffee cup as she read.
“BABE YOU’VE REALLY GOTTA SPEAK UP.”
“UHHH, I SAID IT’S COOL THAT SHE’S GETTING RID OF DIAL-UP AND I’D LOVE TO HELP HER SET IT UP.” Their conversation was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.
“Oh, I’ll get that,” Francesca spoke quietly as she slid out of her chair & left the room. Kate continued to speak.
“YEAH, SO, WE’VE GOTTA DO THAT. . .SHOULDN’T TAKE TOO LONG, RIGHT? I DUNNO, YOU’RE BETTER AT THAT STUFF THAN I AM. . .LIKE, COMPUTERS AND ALL THAT. THIS IS ALL SO BORING THOUGH, TELL ME ABOUT YOUR TRIP! WE HAVEN’T REALLY HAD A CHANCE TO TALK ABOUT IT SINCE YOU GOT BACK. LAST NIGHT WE WERE KINDA BUSY. . . .” Kate giggled and spoke in a soft, nervous tone, “. . .thanks for that, by the way. I really. . .wasn’t expecting it at all. I figured you’d be too tired from the drive, haha. I guess I missed you in more ways than one! You must’ve missed me quite a bit. . .” Kate laughed to herself, “I like it when you’re a little rough like that. MAYBE YOU SHOULD VISIT YOUR FAMILY MORE OFTEN!” She returned to yelling.
Francesca crept back into the tiny corner of the kitchen they called the dining room and slumped into her seat. “HEY, SORRY ABOUT THAT. WE GOTTA COOL IT WITH THE YELLING, 205 ISN’T HAPPY ABOUT IT. WE’LL TALK WHEN YOU’RE DONE.”
“Wait,” she paused, “WAIT, WHAT!?”
“YEAH THAT WAS JENNY FROM NEXT DOOR, APPARENTLY WE WOKE HER HUSBAND. THEY’RE NOT MAD OR ANYTHING, BUT LET’S STOP YELLING NOW.”
“YOU DIDN’T HEAR ANY OF THAT?”
“HUH? NO. DID YOU SAY SOMETHING WHILE I WAS AT THE DOOR?”
“OH, UH. NO, NOT REALLY.”
“OKAY. . .WELL, IF YOU THINK OF IT, LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU GET DONE.”
“SURE, YOU BET.” Kate blushed & poked listlessly at the bacon popping & twisting in the pan, smiling.
Francesca returned to her copy of the Seattle Times, and the pair remained quiet as the smell of bacon & eggs saturated the air.
Francesca & Kate III: Things That Cut
Sunlight filtered through yellowing blinds, making lightning bugs out of the dust floating through the air. Dirty dishes littered the stainless steel sink, sorted neatly by size & shape. The flickering, oil-splattered LCD clock on the back of the stove read 10:45am. Francesca & Kate sat across from each other, hunched over their wobbly, second-hand kitchen table. Francesca quietly leafed through the pages of her newspaper as Kate poked at the last of a runny fried egg splattered across her plate before letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“Finished?” Francesca spoke without looking up from the headlines.
“Yeah, I’m stuffed.”
“Let me take your plate,” Francesca insisted as she set her paper on the table & stood up.
“I can take care of the dishes,” Kate rebutted.
“Nah, it’s only fair.”
“But I want to!”
“Kate, please.” Francesca looked into her eyes & grinned, “I’m faster anyway.”
Kate scoffed & slid her plate across the table. “Pfft. Whatever, go do the stupid dishes. . .Was breakfast okay?”
“What? Of course it was Kate. Thank you, uh, you really didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
“Ah, yeah, but. . .” Francesca looked away & put a hand on the back of her head, embarrassed.
“Hey, don’t you have dishes to do?”
“Oh, right, uh, yes ma’am.” Francesca bowed and took their plates to the kitchen.
“Hey!” Kate shouted from the table.
“Yes?”
“I want those dishes spotless!”
“Oh, uh, of course madame! Squeaky clean. So clean you could. . .uh. . .eat off them. . .” Francesca smiled to herself.
“That’s what I like to hear. Tell me about your trip afterwards!”
“Sure. . .” Francesca replied meekly and slinked into the kitchen.
Water steamed out of the hissing faucet, burning Francesca’s hands. She winced & turned the creaking tap slightly to the right. Rinse, scrub, rinse, scrub, rinse, dry. Francesca didn’t enjoy washing dishes, but she felt Kate didn’t apply the same rigorous standards. Kate wasn’t a particularly messy person, but she lacked Francesca’s unyielding neuroticism–beloved sterility, sacred & comforting. Francesca nodded along silently to the song stuck in her head as she toiled away over the sink. Her eyes glazed over as she worked, slipping away into her inner monologue. She thought about Kate’s question & her teeth began to grind.
“Tell me about your trip.” What do I have to say? Mom said hello. . .That’s the only nice thing I have. Tch, why stress her out talking about my backwards family and their braindead evangelicalism? She doesn’t need to hear that shit. “Oh, babe, dad asked if I was still dating that dyke janitor. Funny, right?” “Oh, babe, my uncle is wondering when I’ll get a boyfriend & start pumping out babies–Aunt Claire is praying for our salvation, isn’t that nice?” Fucking rednecks. Fat, miserable people. “Tell me about your trip,” pfft. What’s there to tell? Mom is fucking dying & everyone else thinks we’re degenerate freaks. Everyone still thinks I’m some repressed, lost daughter that needs to give dick a try before swearing it off. I knew nothing good would come of this trip. I don’t know why I went in the first place, it’s not like–”
“Oh.”
Francesca looked down at her palm, drawn to it by a quick, sharp pain. Blood streamed down into the sink, dyeing the water crimson. The kitchen knife in her right hand clattered loudly on the ruddy metal. Electric blue dish soap streamed into the exposed fat of her palm & Francesca recoiled in shock, slamming her left hand into the sink and spraying blood across the drying rack before falling to the floor. Water continued to loudly steam into the sink, ringing in Francesca’s ears. Vibrant blood ran down her wrist, soaking into the sleeve of her black sweater and dripping onto the cold, checkerboard floor.
“Kate, um. . .” Francesca moaned quietly, “Kate, please, uh, I. . . .” Hot blood continued to pour out of her hand. She stared at it in awe, watching raw life pumping out of her, horrified & amazed by the globules of pale, yellowish fat glistening under her skin. Her eyes widened and trembled as tears began to crawl down the sides of her pallid face.
“Hey, Kate, uh, could you come here? Please. . .” Her voice crackled as she spoke up
“What’s up? Those dishes better be spotless!” Kate spoke in a cheery, sarcastic tone as she lazily slid out of her seat & stepped into the kitchen to find Francesca huddled on the floor, covered in her own blood, crying.
“Ah, Kate. . .” she stuttered between quiet sobs. “. . .I’m so glad to be home.”
Francesca & Kate Chapter IV: Aftercare
“Oooh, I’m feelin’ kinda floaty,” Francesca sighed as she sank into her seat & the warmth of oxycodone.
“I’m surprised they gave you those. . .” Kate glared worryingly from across the couch.
Francesca squinted at her bandaged left hand, throbbing with quick, dull pains. Her hand was bound into a tight, awkward open palm as if she were perpetually waving. The slightest bending of her fingers tugged at the stitches that sewed her palm together.
“Small town hospitals, I guess. If it hurts this much with pills, I’d rather not experience it without them.”
“Right. . .” Kate continued to stare concerningly at her girlfriend’s hand.
“Ah, well. . .I guess I have to call work, huh? I can still type, but not very fast. I’d rather not be under any tight deadlines for the next few weeks.”
“I’m sure they’ll understand, right? I mean, they have other people.”
“Ahhhhhhh,” Francesca sighed, “but I’m the best. The best of the best. Have you seen my work? Can’t be replicated. Irreplaceable, even. I’m the Dostoyevsky of copywriting. My ads are top of the shelf, premium grade stuff. You know The New York Times? Well, without me, they’d just be uh. . .” her words became jumbled & trailed off, “. . .they’d be like, uh, unsuccessful, for sure.”
“Oh, totally,” Kate laughed. “How’s your hand?”
“Fucking hurts. I dunno. Two weeks, they said? Yeah. Showering is gonna be annoying. They gave me these gloves to wear, and I guess, I’m supposed to put tape around the wrist to make it watertight.”
“You poor thing,” Kate whined & crawled over to her partner, burying her head in her chest. “You really scared me, you know.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. . .” Francesca awkwardly patted her head with her wrist.
“I guess I’m better at doing dishes after all.”
“Yes, yes, I concede. You are the superior housewife.”
“Thank you,” Kate beamed & kissed her on the cheek.
The pair laid intertwined on the faded leather couch as the sun began to set on the harbor. The evening news droned on the background.
“. . .and a terrible scene out of Port Angeles tonight, a group of fishermen missing after what appears to be an usual accident. Thomas Knowles is on the scene. Tom?
That’s right Melissa, as you can see behind me here Clallam County officials & the U.S. Coast Guard are still searching the water for any signs of the survivors. The vessel was found floating abandoned in the Strait of Juan de Fuca this morning. It’s believed that six men were onboard the vessel when it left port yesterday. . .”
“Can I ask you something, Francine?” Kate’s voice was muffled as she spoke into her partner’s shoulder.
“‘Francine?’ Oh no, this can’t be good.”
Kate sat up & shuffled her way onto Francesca’s lap, resting her thighs on her hips.
“Well, I. . .” Kate put her hands on Francesca’s waist and cocked her head.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to fuck or about to ask me something unpleasant, but either way I’m nervous.” Francesca looked into Kate’s weary face, hidden behind a screen of unkempt bangs.
“Hah. . .” Kate laughed nervously, “. . .no, uh. Well, I guess it’s the second thing.”
“Hey, if you want to tell me my writing sucks or ask me about losing my virginity, now is certainly the time.”
“That makes me feel like I’m taking advantage of the situation. . .”
“Because I’m on drugs or because you’re sitting in my lap?”
“I was referring to the drugs. . .Jeez, you need to get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Right, right. Fuck, I dunno, I don’t mind. Ask away, Katie.”
“Why don’t you want to tell me about your trip?”
Francesca threw her head back against the armrest of the couch and took a deep breath.
“Why do you think? I dunno, Kate. . .you know what my family is like. They don’t like me. They don’t like us. I only went to spend time with mom, and unfortunately, that means spending time with my extended family too. She told me to say hi, by the way, and she apologized on their behalf. Mom did, I mean. I don’t really have anything else to add.”
Kate smiled with a trembling lower lip & quickly looked away from her partner. Her breath began to tremble, and a cascade of amber hair fell in front of her face. Francesca sighed and carefully brushed the hair out of her eyes with her intact right hand.
“See? This is why I didn’t want to say anything.”
Kate giggled through quiet, stifled sobs.
“No, I. . .That’s not why I’m crying.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You really scared me today, Francesca. . .That’s all. You scared me, and then, when we were in the ER you wouldn’t even talk, you just kept crying and apologizing. . .You don’t have to hold stuff back from me, you know? I love you, I’m here for you. Even if things are difficult, even if they’re unpleasant things, you should be able to share them with me. You know? You can tell me anything, even the bad things. Please. . .don’t hide things from me.”
Francesca pursed her lips and looked Kate in the eyes.
“I’m sorry, I’ll try not to be so secretive.”
“You trust me, right?” Kate shyly looked away.
“More than anyone.”
“Then act like it,” Kate spat back and punched Francesca in the arm.
“Yes ma’am,” Francesca laughed and pulled her partner into her chest before drifting off into a warm, Oxycodone haze.
Francesca & Kate V: Mindfulness
Diplomas & certificates lined the pale, pink office wall of Francesca’s therapist. A white noise machine hissed in the hall outside the door, and her therapist sat cross-legged with a pillow on her lap. Thin, willowy steam rose steadily from a humidifier on the floor, perfumed with the supposedly calming scent of essential oils.
“. . . .we haven’t really talked much about it, no.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, I dunno. . .” Francesca put her knees up to her chest, curling into a defensive position on the clammy leather couch.
“I guess, uh. . .I guess I don’t want to make her upset.”
“You think she’d be upset with you?”
“No, no, not with me. With my family. I feel like, if I told her all the things my family said it’d just hurt her feelings. I hate hiding things from her, but don’t you think that’s best in a case like this? Some of the things they said. . . .it’s disgusting, it’s really disgusting. I told her a little, eventually. She kinda forced it out of me. . . “
“I think it’s noble to want to protect her, but clearly, holding all this back is weighing on you tremendously. Partners are supposed to protect each other, yes, but they also share each other’s burdens. They share both joy & sorrow.”
“I guess you’re right. . . .fuck, my hand hurts.”
Her therapist laughed.
“I can imagine. How many stitches?”
“13.”
“Thirteen? That’s quite a lot.”
“It was bad, really bad. I’m not even sure how it happened, I didn’t feel it or anything. I just remember standing there in the kitchen, grinding my teeth, feeling the hot water on my hands, thinking about this stupid trip. I felt angry, really angry, and I thought if I just poured that energy into something mindless it might go away. At the very least, I thought it might be helpful. Hah, guess I was wrong.” Francesca smiled & held her bandaged left hand up beside her face.
“You had the right idea. I’m proud of you, actually. Most people experiencing such intense stress would quickly turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms. It’s easy, comforting. When we’re feeling overwhelmed or stuck in our feelings we want it to go away as soon as possible, and that drive for change is really overwhelming. Choosing to put that energy into something productive like housework is a really healthy choice,” Francesca’s therapist glanced at her patient’s hand & corrected her tone, “. . .however, even mundane things can become dangerous if we approach them without thinking.”
“I guess you’re right about that. . .” Francesca sighed.
The pair sat quietly for a few minutes, Francesca folded up on the couch next to the window, her therapist looking on from across the room. The stitches in her hand felt tight. Her therapist’s downtown office had a view of the bay, lined with off-season fishing vessels & rickety wooden piers. Francesca stared at the sidewalk below, watching pedestrians fight against the cutting autumn wind. She could smell the cafe across the street, fresh croissants and sourdough bread lining the counter, the inviting, intoxicating scent of coffee & yeasted dough. When her hour was up, she’d surprise Kate with pastries & chocolate-covered espresso beans.
“We haven’t spoken about self harm in a while,” Francesca’s therapist interrupted her train of thought.
“Does this count?” Francesca asked, pointing to the flesh tone bandage on her hand.
“No,” her therapist chuckled, “unless you think it should. Just an accident. An emotionally charged one, but unintentional nonetheless.”
“Right. . .I dunno, with Kate around I couldn’t really cut if I wanted to. . .but I don’t really think about it. Every so often when I’m panicking or overwhelmed I get this funny feeling in my arm. It itches, it really itches. My scars itch, and I find myself missing the way it felt. The pinch of metal, hot blood running down my wrist. . .Talking about this. . .uh. . .it’s bad luck. Can we please change the subject?”
“Of course, Francesca. How’s work?”
“Oh God. Change it again.”
the r0z garden 
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