March 7, 2017

A Life Transparent by Todd Keisling

By Todd Keisling

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The commute home took longer than expected, thanks to a five-car fenderbender, and by the time he got home Donna had already eaten dinner. That night he tried once more in vain to talk to her. She couldn’t hear him and, for all he knew, couldn’t see him either. What troubled him most was that she didn’t seem to miss him, and it was then he remembered the crude thing he saw on her shoulder that morning. It had been whispering in her ear. Perhaps it had something to do with all this? Perhaps, somehow, it was planning to consume his wife and, to do so, it needed him out of the way.

Signs of a struggle ceased there, as did the trail of footprints, but that wasn’t enough to allay his fears. As he ascended, the steps seemed to stretch on for a mile. It was during this time that his rational self tried to find a simple explanation. Maybe she had 57 an accident? Maybe she tripped or something and made such a huge mess, and now she’s upstairs taking a bath? But why wouldn’t she clean up first? that inner voice quipped. Why would she bathe before cleaning up flour and puddles of milk and gooey eggs?

He rose from his seat, letting the cat spill to the floor. Mr. Precious Paws looked up at him with tired, pissed off eyes. 28 It was three minutes until 9 o’clock. “Almost forgot,” he said, turning off his computer. ” • It was ten minutes after eleven when Donovan tip-toed into the bedroom. Donna sat with him in the den for a while as he watched the nightly television shows, but she was silent, her nose stuck in a book. She went to bed half an hour before he did, and the longer he sat there after she’d left, the more he began to feel like a jerk.

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